


Bringing down the neighbourhood

by s_t_c_s



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon-typical shenanigans, Choking, F/M, Kinda, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Phone Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Sexual Content, UST, fucked up dynamic, idiots who think sex is supposed to be competitive, liberal use of the f word, mentions of past beth/dean but mostly in terms of dean being TRASH, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-10-13 12:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_t_c_s/pseuds/s_t_c_s
Summary: Post s2, Beth accidentally moves in next to Rio. High jinks ensue.(Rating and) tags liable to change.*COMPLETE*





	1. gonna act up but not in your fucking play

So he’d brought himself back from the dead. Or done something of the sort. Rio’d been a little light on the details, and she’d not exactly felt herself in a position to demand more – not during his dramatic announcement, nor in the weeks since.

And, honestly, she’d not managed to summon all that much surprise when he’d shown up out of nowhere. Her life had smacked of being a cosmic joke, even prior to that last string of catastrophes. Every time she thought she’d dealt with a problem, it’d bounce back up – with a couple of choice chums in tow. Just like garden moles - and, please, if only she could throw bubble gum to the FBI or a bunch of criminals and clear _them_ out with such ease. Of course it made sense that the second she felt settled, Rio’d rise up from the ashes to torment her.

It had her almost pining for the days where her biggest problems were a cheating husband and a pile of neat, comprehensible, legitimate debt. Better that than an ex-lover-cum-business-partner hell bent on her destruction, surely?

Though at least it leant an air of the Shakespearean to her existence. Before, it’d probably been more akin to a trashy soap opera. Her troubles had really been classed up – not that she’d found a huge amount of comfort could be gathered from that observation.

Apologies had bled with ease from her lips – in her dreams, or when she’d bargained with a god she didn’t believe in. She’d begged for forgiveness, she’d wept, she’d pleaded – had run the full gamut of cliches.

But when she’d actually seen him again, gut-punchingly alive, none of that had been anywhere close to what she’d said.

It’d been a muttered, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” with an air of almost bored resignation.

For a second she’d thought he actually seemed _amused_, but then – probably a trick of the light.

It hadn’t felt inappropriate, really. Not how grovelling would’ve. That’s just what her story was, right? One hit after another, yet again a terrible surprise courtesy of some man.

And he hadn’t killed her. Because – well she didn’t really know why. It would have been too obvious a choice? If her heart wasn’t palpitating with panic and shock, what was even the point, apparently. She knew she’d given him every right to retaliate in kind, such as that went, doubted he’d feel any compunction over doing it.

He’d said she owed him, he’d said they were back in business. And she’d said fine – or, well. Maybe that hadn’t been the absolute first thing she’d voiced in response, but she’d come around to it fast.

He hadn’t even really _threatened_, at least not exactly. There’d been menace threaded through his every word, each glance. And so, whatever. At least it was familiar. She’d been swept along, caught in his current, without so much as a pause for contemplation.

Maybe it had been all that anxiety tangled inwards, or just good old fashioned trauma. But some thoughts had nestled deep in Beth’s consciousness. Like, perhaps she was the one who was wrong. Cos he’d pushed his way out of his coffin or – or _something_. To track her down, to make her pay. It was increasingly difficult to cast herself as the innocent lamb. Big bad wolves weren’t supposed to avenge wrongs, were they? Not from the afterlife, surely.

Often in her dreams she saw claws at her fingertips. And sometimes there her face had a feral grin she recognised too well, but not as her own.

And things like that? They could change a person. She’d not known that – felt her sense of identity was entrenched somewhere, at her core. But she’d found herself sliding from her own grasp, ever since that brutal night with Turner, and them, and that gun. Or maybe it had started earlier – it was so hard to understand the chronology of change after it was done.

What had mattered before? Some of that slipped away, easy as breath. For so long she’d believed she wanted that big old house, needed it for her babies. She could remember feeling that way – but it was like a sensation sealed away, inaccessible to who she’d become. That home seemed to echo with nothing but bad memories.

And Dean’s suggestion – of them renting a shared place and trading off time at the house with the kids – she’d _tried_ to engage with it, okay. But all of her memories from round then had gotten a little jumbled and mixed through. Though she knew it was terrible idea to comb over it all, try to work out what she should have done differently, she couldn’t stop herself from prodding at the psychic wounds. That was just who she was – meticulous, engaged, curious.

It was as if she would always be trying to fathom some miraculous cheat sheet. If she hadn’t resigned herself to Dean round then, craving outdated comforts before the coming storm of divorce, would everything have played out the same?

It tortured her, a lot of things did. And it had quickly gotten to the point where she simply couldn’t stand it, all of it sounding round her head so often. So they’d had to sell the house. She absolutely could not have done anything else. That process had been started before Rio’d rematerialised, she knew it had, but it got so hard to remember causality sometimes.

And so they’d got two apartments – Dean slinking to his mother’s briefly before sorting one of his own, Beth renting initially. The kids had loved the idea, much more than she’d anticipated. Doubling the opportunities to decorate bedrooms was apparently incredibly attractive to them. That had been the greatest relief – that her needs weren’t harming them.

*

The day she got the keys – for her actual apartment, the one she’d finally bought – she hadn’t actually been ready to move in properly. The paperwork had passed in a blur, and she had more than enough to do otherwise. Would still need to organise a van, set aside time to get things out of storage.

She’d just wanted to pop in – go look at what was hers. Acknowledge the momentousness of the occasion somehow, soak it in alone.

Beth had made it to the hallway outside the – _her_ – apartment. Was literally in the process of slipping her purse down from her shoulder so she could root around for the envelope with the keys inside that she’d shoved in there earlier. And she’d suddenly just _known_ – though not with the mechanics of how.

Sure enough, when she turned, Rio was indeed present. He was lounging against the wall, looking extremely unimpressed, and far too comfortable at his perch for her tastes.

Oh great – were they back to him following her around then?

She tried to rack her brain for anything she might have done of late to annoy him into returning to some light stalking, but came up empty. Maybe he just wanted to drive home the point that she couldn’t do anything, change any of her circumstances, without him sensing it – even if it had nothing to do with him.

She’d officially given up on trying to understand his whims after the last time he’d not bothered to kill her.

“What?” she asked, not defeated, more exasperated.

“_Yeah_.”

She could tell he thought his reply carried the necessary significance, but she was still at a complete loss.

After a few moments of obviously puzzled glancing and expectant gesturing, where he just carried on looking record breakingly pissed at her, she gave up. Shrugged, then returned to sorting through her purse, looking anywhere but in the direction of his awful mood.

Beth went to unlock her new door for the very first time. Pinpricks danced along her spine, the imagined force of his gaze on her back and the awareness of how stupid it probably was to turn hers to him creating a thrilling cocktail she couldn’t really ignore but could at least avoid delving into.

A particularly aggravated noise came out of him, before he swam into her field of vision.

He had something suspiciously familiar in his hand, and for a second she was outraged. Thought he’d somehow got a set of her keys cut, was flexing tactical muscles in front of her as a display. But then he went for the _next_ door instead, turned an expression so pointed her way she was close to surprised it didn’t julienne her flesh. And then she was awash with fear, denials, despair, plus a pinch of exhausted amusement. Because it was a bit funny, or maybe she was just approaching hysteria, the universe’s bizarre sense of humour.

Even right then, through the alarm and confusion, she was spinning up plans, cooking up a way out. How quickly she might be able to sell the place on, without making a loss – she couldn’t afford to not at least break even. Or how feasible it’d be to rent it out, find somewhere else to stay in the immediate interim – worry about the long term when she got to it.

Beth cursed herself for not going around the building, meeting people, before making the offer. She and Dean had done that, way back when, before buying the house. But houses in the ‘burbs felt different that way – like it was acceptable, even expected, to intrude. The privacy, the appreciation of urban _solitude_, was part of what had drawn her to the idea of living in a block like this. Not needing to perform a happy face for nonymous strangers.

Different flavours of accusation seemed to dance their way across Rio’s face – not quite landing on whether it was confronted with a genius tormentor or a bumbling fool.

But then he said, “You ain’t living here, if that’s what you trying.” Threw in a scoff or two, as well.

And she – _god_. She’d had quite enough of him, of men generally, telling her what to do for about a million lifetimes.

Her feet seemed to plant so firm of their own accord she wasn’t sure she could have walked away, even if she’d wanted to. Something inside her snapped to life at the chance to war with him – her opportunities to do so having narrowed to precious few in the changed dynamic of their brave new world.

Nowadays, it seemed he barely looked at her. Their dealings were handled by phone or proxy, or both, mostly. When the two of them did speak in person, he instructed her in a tone where listlessness and irritation touched. And she got it, of course she did. But she was beginning to tire of being treated like a disliked unpleasant child, some burdensome task to be attended to by rote.

And this was wonderfully different, a break in the routine. Her weight shifted to one hip, as her face tilted up and to the side.

Her eyes narrowed a tinge as she said, “This is mine,” voice keeping firm.

She saw his teeth bite together, watched the muscles in his jaw clench. Her interest in his responses remained detached, she needed to cobble together a sense of what was to come, if that was at all possible.

Beth was confident he’d say something else, throw a threat her way at least. But then he rolled his eyes, like this was all so far beneath him.

Rio was inside his apartment in a blink, before she could even think of a way to force the conversation her way.

And then she was huffing – muddled and annoyed, but mostly unsatisfied. Spoiling for an argument that wasn’t available. So she followed his lead, let herself into her own place, allowed the door to slam with a pleasing thunk behind her. Once she was inside, she found that the fight had evaporated out of her though, as she slid down to the ground, back to the wall.

Staking a claim – even though it _was_ hers, it was – suddenly became stupid in an irredeemable fashion without the sight of him to grasp at. Beth tried to steel herself for finding a horse’s head or something of that ilk in her bed some day soon – once she had her furniture sorted out anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Dance Hall by Modest Mouse.


	2. Home again, I like to be here when I can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a good idea?

Beth was a person, she was fairly sure of that. And not, therefore, a pendulum. She sort of doubted that that had been abundantly obvious lately though.

Her moods had been swinging betwixt extremes with a speed that should’ve scared her far more – especially with the mother she’d had. But it just _didn’t__ – _maybe it could’ve managed to if she’d had fewer things to focus on, not so many demands on her time and mind. Or perhaps it was simply because it was _so_ easy to fathom the cause.

Sometimes she was abjectly troubled by what a terrible idea it was. To move not just herself but her fricking _children_ – at least half the time – next to a violent criminal with a grudge against her. There were moments where it paralysed, that had her faltering.

But at other points she was drenched with elation. She loved her apartment – so purely, so fiercely. The way it glowed in the afternoon light, how absolutely no one had brought her a welcome casserole, her window boxes that felt like they were truly for the household – not for prying eyes to judge. She was pretty into not having been killed, too. And that part kept on encouragingly keeping up.

There were flashes, unreasonably hopeful ones, where she was almost able to convince herself it’d been a great gamble. That there was a chance, slim understandably, of patching things some. Because proximity could breed familiarity, right – but the pleasing kind, not the type chock full of contempt.

What got her through, when her fears shifted back into gear, was that while she’d thought more than a few unkind thoughts about Rio in her time, laziness had never featured heavily in those critiques. Some part of her knew that it shouldn’t be a comforting conviction – the recollection that if the man next door wanted to hurt her, possibly through the pain of someone she loved, distance and the trappings of security wouldn’t do much to deter him. But it just _was_. It meant that she hadn’t really fucked up. That her actions didn’t matter. Got the worst of her mania deflating, anyway.

Besides, as many not very nice things as she’d mentally listed about him – and there’d been quite the gaggle, over and over again – an interest in harming children had remained entirely absent. Perhaps that was foolish of her, evidence of rose-tinted glasses still clinging. It was possible that she was still too trusting of him, but if that was the case she had no idea how to turn it off.

Over the weeks, as she’d moved herself in and settled, she’d somehow been confronted with a calm centre she’d all but forgotten owning. Maybe the fact that she didn’t run into him much in the building was a contributing factor for that composure.

The first occasion where she did spot him, after that real inaugural accidental encounter, it was only the two of them again. And that had been okay – he’d scowled, and she’d blithely ignored it. It could’ve almost been a regular day at the office – few of those as they managed.

The second instance, she had her two youngest with her – and that got her a little apprehensive. Especially when Jane had yelled, “Birdman!” at Rio, with an impressive amount of gusto.

He’d stiffened up, and for a moment Beth had truly hated herself, and all her choices. Because he could do whatever he wanted to her, if he had to, but she wouldn’t have him being cruel to her babies, that she couldn’t abide.

Though then he’d eased some, and she faulted him not at all for the way he remained guarded. He greeted Jane politely before taking his leave – not without shooting a dirty look at Beth while the kids were distracted. As if she needed reminding that he despised her, that any kindness in front of others was for show, or at least not for her.

It had unwound her a little, anyway. Had pumped her conviction that he wasn’t going to come at her through her children full of renewed vigour.

The third one though, that was appalling. At least to begin with.

Surely, somewhere in the recesses of her mind she’d known it was a real possibility, after she’d claimed her place next to Rio. But maybe it had been too difficult an idea to engage with. Because that had been the worst part about what she’d done in a way – the stink of hypocrisy she couldn’t seem to wash off.

When she trundled through her memories – and try as she might, that wasn’t a habit easy to shake – the way she’d told him, over and over, so petulant and proud, that she had _kids_ made her grimace with embarrassment. Because she’d tried to hunker safe behind the fact, attempted to wield it as a shield. And then she’d gone and done, well, _that_. The worst that she could – ignoring that he was a parent too, shoving everything aside in the moment.

And Beth tried to tell herself it hadn’t mattered, because he’d reanimated his own corpse somehow, to waltz back into her life, to haunt her into penance. But. But walking down the hall, prosaic shopping bags in hand, when the two of them suddenly materialised, exiting Rio’s apartment in an abrupt fashion she’d _never_ managed with her extensive brood, Beth wasn’t able to make herself feel that what she’d done lacked significance.

Rio glowered when he noticed her, but that wasn’t strange. And, if anything, the familiarity of his dislike was turning faintly reassuring. It was a thread that bound logic to an otherwise disorienting series of situations, a blade that sliced through their overly complex maze.

But his son eyed her with a little curiosity, before offering a forthright, “Hi!” and a smile of recognition. It wasn’t like he _ran_ towards her, or even came all that close. But it was enough to break her heart, almost. That he trusted her so easily, would wander from his father because he thought he was allowed. When she’d- But of course he didn’t know, that wasn’t the kind of thing you could tell a child. She’d never breathed a bad word about the birdman to hers, after all.

And she, well. She wasn’t _not_ going to crouch down and make small talk with an adorable kid. It was kind of refreshing actually, to find that she was still herself in predictable ways, underneath the grime. And he chatted with her so merrily – it was a soothing balm on the open sore of her agitations.

When she glanced up though, the look Rio gave her was… No, not pained. More straight up murderous. And she understood it, she truly did. She had no right. To make nice with his son, after what she’d done. But how else was she supposed to handle it? Be rude to a child? Take it upon herself to teach the sweet munchkin that the world was a horrible place?

She wasn’t sure if her doubt showed on her face, but she did feel a bit relieved when Rio scooped up his kid, saying, “C’mon pop, we gotta go.”

She didn’t understand that – the nickname. Had wondered if it was a joke, if the boy called Rio ‘son’ in response, or something of the sort. She’d never had the chance to ask, and rather doubted any would be provided now, _after_.

Rio allowed himself to be bullied into giving her a gruff but vaguely audible ‘goodbye’ when his son prompted him with teasing laughs. She knew it was only playing pretend, not a real nicety, even without the scalding glare that followed and blistered, over a shoulder – secreted, private for her.

But still, she couldn’t quite give up on her belief that a thaw might be incoming. She was nothing if not persistent, and hadn’t Rio learnt that the hard way – more than once? It felt that he might be becoming accustomed to her presence, at the very least.

It could have merely been the passage of time, or the practicalities of business successes, but he started asking – or rather, demanding – her along to things a little more. Just a few meets, here and there. And that had her patting herself on the back for where she’d chosen to stay. Especially as it sometimes seemed like the convenience of her placement might be a factor. Why not let someone ride along if you didn’t have to go anywhere out of the way to fetch them or drop them off, after all?

Rio told her when to meet him, then with unnerving punctuality he messaged her something in the vein of ‘now’ or ‘out’. He never knocked on her door, would just be standing there on the other side of it when she immediately appeared in response – looking annoyed as all hell. As if _she’d_ insisted on his presence, or kept him waiting. She tried to lighten the mood, made variants of ‘Long journey?’ jokes, those first couple of times. That only earned her withering glances and the odd tut.

So the next time it happened – and she had to eagerly anticipate it with bated breath a while – she vowed to beat him to the hall. Was hanging about, playing with her phone, trying to look aloof, for a full fifteen minutes before their scheduled meeting time. Of course then the bastard sent her ‘downstairs’ at exactly 8PM, and she had to hurry out front. Where he sighed dramatically, making a whole show of looking at his watch, and she thought exactly nothing about how gratifying it might feel to headbutt him, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Time by Pink Floyd.


	3. if someone asks you, you can call my name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a disaster occurs!

On what had originally felt like an ordinary Tuesday morning, Beth fucked up so badly she almost surprised _herself_. Given that the list of her greatest hits included imitation armed robbery, attempted arson, following her daughter’s blanket to a dangerous drug den, and murdering – if not quite enough, ostensibly – her vicious crime boss, that was no mean feat.

She understood what had happened – with the whys – but that didn’t do a great deal to help. See, she’d answered Dean’s call with a loud sigh; not an unusual response to having to talk to him unexpectedly. When she’d got her head around what he was telling her – that Danny was in the hospital with a broken arm – she switched straight into autopilot. Something icy gripped her entirely, it felt like it was squashing the panic, sequestering it away from investigation.

Beth snapped up and out – more than eager to go find her son, comfort him, see what magic she could work to make it somehow better. It was only as she was marching down the hall toward the stairs that she happened to glance down. And that’s when she realised how hugely she’d messed up.

She was barefoot, clad only in her underwear, with no purse, keys, phone or wallet. She’d just crashed straight out of her apartment, so keen to reach her injured child, that she hadn’t paused to take stock or think or – God, stupid, _fucking stupid_.

The doubling back was almost instant. She pushed at her door, though she knew it was fruitless, had heard it slam shut behind her earlier. Beth kicked at her welcome mat despondently, savagely certain there was no spare key under it.

She wavered a second, then wandered a shade closer to Rio’s entrance, contemplated knocking. It would be _awful_ to see him when brought so low, horrible to have to ask him of all people for help. But at least he _knew_ her, and was a parent – might be able to drill down to some reserves of empathy, if he could be bothered. And she didn’t really have time to waste so–

But try as she might, she couldn’t seem to make herself do it. The thought of his ridicule stung at her interior too much. So instead Beth cast her mind about for titbits she possibly had access to about her other neighbours. If she managed to zone in a woman or two – preferably mothers – surely she'd be able to explain her predicament. Borrow some clothing maybe, make a call – get Annie or Ruby to bring her their spare key, or give her a ride to the hospital and bring her back later. Or. Or something!

Her spiral was interrupted suddenly when Rio popped out from the stairwell, long strides coming to an abrupt halt. He glared daggers at her, which continued as his gaze traipsed downwards. And that was strangely reassuring – the way he appeared to hate her breasts just as much as any other part of her. Smacked of respect almost. She felt – _subjectified_.

“’Snot my birthday,” he said in a tone that pulsed with ironic derision.

She didn’t even blush, it was great. Was only half-listening, anyway. Cos she was thinking – well, what the hell. She hadn’t wanted to go to him for assistance, but he was there now and she… didn’t really know what else to do.

“He’s in-” she heaved into, but then realised that was a bad start. Rio wouldn’t have a clue who she was on about, plus her voice had sounded kind of crazy – despairing and jagged. She tried again, keeping her eyes locked on a fascinating piece of wall above Rio’s head.

“Danny’s in the hospital.” Her words, if not her respiration, had sounded more under control with that. “And I was rushing to get to him and I forgot,” she shrugged, seeing no point to trying to hide the helplessness, “everything.”

Rio didn’t say anything, and the silence seemed to extend to great depths, it was easy to imagine it enveloping the floors below, stunning the residents.

Eventually, she risked a peek at his face. Beth wasn't clear on what she’d hoped to achieve by doing it, but his look was – _different_. Less accusatory than usual perhaps, more watchful. Not interested necessarily, but something cautious to it.

She had no idea what else to do, so she dug further into her explanation. Turned mortified when she admitted, “I panicked and–” before breaking off with a forlorn expression and averted eyes.

It didn’t really make _sense_ to have a problem with him knowing she’d freaked; it was unlikely he thought her hewn from stone. Rio’d had her yelping enough times over his sudden appearances or strict demands back in their early days, had caught the worst of her terror when she’d emptied three bullets into his chest one night.

Although maybe that was what had given her pause – not wanting to remind either of them about _that_. Not that she thought he’d forgotten it but–

She caught the motion of his hands, playing with the hem of his t-shirt, and just – _No_. When she looked, she could read his intent on his face. Which was odd, in fact. She never tended to have problems picking up on his mood, what he was going to do about it was always harder to predict. He moved too fast for her, and typically at very strange angles.

While hanging about with him in a hallway – when she had a far more pressing thing to attend to – dressed only in serviceable and technically unmatching black briefs and bra wasn’t anywhere close to ideal, it was leagues ahead of what he looked to be offering. Because if her half-dressed and him shirtless would likely have been a problematic shitshow at their best of times (and these were anything but that), the suggestion of being confronted with the wounds she’d given him, the evidence of her murderousness, was too revolting a concept to dally with.

He seemed to think better of the plan at least, fingers moving in the direction of pockets then stilling. She rather doubted any reaction of hers had contributed to his decision. She’d frozen up, but in a weird way, where she hadn’t been able to respond outwardly at all. Her breath was trapped somewhere under her tongue, clogging her throat.

He pushed past her, looking comfortingly annoyed, entering his apartment while she stared on in forlorn confusion. She didn’t, wouldn’t, follow, though he’d left his front door gaping wide. She hadn’t much accused him of carelessness in her irritated litany of his faults. It might have been an invitation of sorts, but Beth wasn’t about to go tripping into a trap – not when in desperate need of aid.

He reappeared briefly to fling something, material, at her – which she caught against her chest after a minor fumble – before she lost him from her sight around another corner.

When she unfolded what she’d grabbed from the air, it turned out to be an oversized black t-shirt. Beth pulled it on fast, glad of both it and the distraction. It was definitely better than how exposed she’d been – if someone wandered past, or if Rio was going to help, do anything more than slam the solid oak in her face.

It looked too large for him, not his usual, perhaps a terrible gift or someone else’s entirely. She didn’t much care, decided she loved everything about it. The mannish length of the sleeves, how it didn’t smell of him at all, the deceptive armouring thickness of the cloth that she hoped had the power to protect her some from the awfulness of the day.

Rio jutted back into her eyeline with purposeful, quick steps and grim determination shading his features – things that might have made her want to cower under different circumstances. A recognisable object was poking from his fist, and she’d made that mistake once before but surely–

Only then he was gesturing with his head for her to move out of his way, and she scrambled, allowed instinct to take the wheel.

Immediately, he had a key in her front door and it was turning but, “Why do you have,” she started.

He turned his face to her, and it was too close – that was the problem. Not his evident fury, she was used to that, it rolled off like droplets from a raincoat.

So, “Never mind. I don’t even care. Just- thanks.”

It felt absurd. To be in a position where she had to – _wanted_ to – display gratitude to a man she distinctly remembered killing.

But – well, there they were. He merely made a grunting sound – acquiescence or annoyance or acknowledgement, perhaps. She couldn’t tell, and didn’t feel she had even a millisecond to spare on it. So she simply hurried on in, not looking back at him again before the door struck itself closed after her.

Beth made quick work of dressing, but stopped to _triple_ check she had all her necessary items, muttering their names to herself, before making to leave. She’d ordered an Uber – her misadventure hadn’t given her much faith in her ability to drive herself to the hospital in one piece – but risked keeping the driver waiting a minute to eye the world through her peephole extensively.

Once she’d ascertained a distinct lack of Rio out there, she was willing to exit. And thankfully he didn’t reappear while she was rushing off.

*

Much later, assured as well as she could be and so proud of her brave boy, Beth walked up to her building from the short distance away that Annie had dropped her. Her sister had wanted to stay, to soothe, but Beth had waved her off. Had insisted she was fine (to unimpressed, disbelieving noises) and that she wanted to collapse, alone, until she was able to return to the hospital (that had earned her sympathetic mumbles and some genuinely concerning suggestions).

But when she got to the exterior door, raised her hand ready to input the code, her heart sank. The outstretched appendage did too, falling back against her thigh in defeat. The combination of numbers she needed seemed to have been sieved straight out of her brain.

It wasn’t all that surprising in truth, she got that it was stress-induced. Something like it had happened a couple of times before. Like after the first trip she’d taken with a young, injured Annie to the emergency room, when she’d been despairingly trying to conjure the PIN to her mind, wanting to punch the ATM or throttle the accusatory pharmacist who’d insisted he wouldn’t take a card payment from her because it wasn’t _her_ name embossed on it – calling her a thief very clearly without quite saying the words.

Beth leaned against a nearby wall a moment, drawing shallow breaths. Tried to decide where might be a good place to retreat to briefly, whether coffee – or bourbon – might prove useful. She took the opportunity to run an eye over her phone, which she hadn’t attended to for hours. Seeing a missed call from Rio got her scowling, fast. Whatever was going on business-wise, couldn’t it darn well wait? She obviously wasn’t having a good day, it had to be impossible that that had passed his attention, and she was distracted and–

And then she was calling him back, because an argument might galvanize, could get her thoughts unpuzzling while her focus was elsewhere.

“Mmph,” he answered, not giving off a particularly expectant vibe – she knew better than to fall for his tricks though, cognisant of how he loved to throw her off balance and then strike.

It must have affected her nonetheless, because next she said, “The door code,” in an airy way, as if maybe she was just checking he remembered it too.

Around what sounded suspiciously like some chewing and swallowing he reeled it off neatly, five little digits that immediately lit up a well-used internal pattern of hers.

“Ah,” she said. “Yep.”

She didn’t hang up straight away, there was something unhurried about his breathing that gave her permission to hold on, at least for a sec.

“One time Marcus was in the ER, swear I forgot my own name.”

“Oh.” Beth rubbed the front of one shoe along the sidewalk in a tight rhythm, not sure what else to add. “Thanks.” It smacked of the infinitely inadequate.

He made a low, weird noise. Then, “Later.”

She had the blessedly obvious sequence, it could be punched in to allow her entry, she'd be able to alleviate her aches and exhaustion once inside, at least a small amount. But she stayed propped against the brick a while more – staring blankly outwards.

*

Not _too_ long after, she’d faceplanted onto her mattress. The steady groaning had started up as soon as her face hit pillow, and she had no plans to let it subside for at least a century. Uncryptic truths from Rio made her so uneasy.

She shaped the signifier, Marcus, in her mouth – soundless. And wasn’t that the fucking kicker. Somehow while she and Rio had been making moves in parks – employing their children as cover in a way that read unthinkably callous to her now – she’d never even gotten his son’s name. And worse, Rio seemed to be acquainted with the identity of each of her kids. Had it been rudeness on her part, a closedness on his, or a disturbing inability of the two of them in concert to act like goddamn _people_?

And lord, did it make it – her – better or worse? Shooting a man then chatting cheerfully with his kid, without ever noticing she didn’t know what the boy was _called_? Beth wasn’t positive if it showed her to be the most inattentive and thoughtless person in all of history, or if she’d utilised some unconscious self-preservation instinct worth sparing a sprig of pride for. What she was certain of was that she needed sleep. It took her far too long to reach it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure when and why I became obsessed with these two and keys, but anyway! 
> 
> Chapter title is from A House Is Not A Motel by Love.


	4. seems we’ve wandered out of bounds again!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maybe Beth does have some manners

A few days later, the other kids were still at Dean’s but Danny was safely ensconced with Beth. She’d been trying not to blame her ex-husband for what had happened to their son – truly. She knew what children were like, how such accidents could blur into occurrence so fast, that Dean was hugely cut up over it already. But memories kept overlapping and tangling.

She was _certain_ that Annie, as a youngster, wouldn’t have got into so many scrapes – or breaks – if she, if they’d _both_, had proper parental supervision at the time. And Beth just wouldn’t have been comfortable not having Danny with her once he was released from the hospital – the consensus happily having been that surgery wasn’t in fact required. It was clear that Danny wanted to be with his mom too, so Dean hadn’t generated any protests.

It had taken her a couple of days to get around to laundering that shirt from Rio. She’d been wearing it that first day at the hospital, with it mostly hidden by a bulky blazer. It had made her feel…something. Secretly powerful, imbued with arcane capability – an unlikely superhero. And she’d slept in it that night, had barely had the energy to kick off her boots and jeans before collapsing face-first onto her bed.

And maybe she’d ended up wearing it in lieu of her usual PJs for a night or two beyond that as well, fine. But she’d been all over the place, her normally rigid routines had been smashed to pieces.

She wanted to return it – didn’t need even one more line item added to her tab – but she kind of fancied doing something more too. Because Rio helping her in her moment of bleak desperation, that part she could just about wrap her head around. It had been – _human_, in a basic, automatic way.

Although given that she was certain she’d sacrificed Rio, only for him to somehow have life breathed back into his cadaver, she wasn’t sure they weren’t both too demonstrably monstrous to have that description applied to them. Beth preferred not to dwell on _that_ aspect if she could avoid it. Which wasn’t too hard in fact, as she was rather stuck on the other part.

How he’d been – well, _nice_ wasn’t exactly the word for it. And that was a good thing, because if it had been the fitting term she’d have been worrying far more that he’d been snatched and replaced by some invading aliens, or that whatever force had hurtled him back to existence, into hers, had done it very wrong. Still, he’d been… _understanding_. After the fact, too. When she’d needed the entry code he hadn’t mocked, had instead shared something of significance with her. That felt more momentous, stirred her more, than him not going out of his way to avoid her distress when physically confronted with it.

So she wanted to thank him properly. And anyway, not having the majority of her kids during one of her assigned weeks, and the one that was with her spending a lot the day dozing, had her a little restless. She definitely had the time for it.

Rio’d never seemed to have much of a sweet tooth, that ruled out a sizeable slice of her staples. He might have purported to not be a sandwich guy (and she wondered if possibly that had been some twisted private joke of his, he probably secretly owned Subway), but she’d definitely witnessed him munching on bread with a meal more than once. So she set about baking a few loaves.

*

She’d sent him a message, asking if he was home. His answer hadn’t hadn’t taken too long to volley back, but she wasn’t entirely clear if it, simply ‘Y?’, was in the affirmative or a follow-up question. _Typical_. Beth decided to wing it, she gathered up the things, after checking on a snoozing Danny and patting her pockets a ridiculous number of times to make sure that her phone and keys hadn’t magically evaporated.

Rio opened the door after a couple of knocks, and she soon met his eyes – if only to avoid gawking further at his naked toes.

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, wanted to bring back the top you leant me. And say thank you.”

He pulled a face that teetered around the edges of disbelief without quite collapsing into it. Then said, “Okay.”

Rio eyed the foil-wrapped packages on a small tray perched atop the folded shirt in a wary way.

“Oh!” Beth added. “I made you some bread.”

“Bread?” he repeated, with what she would probably have described as a confused squint on anyone else.

She nodded, adding extra carefully, “It has olives in. And some garlic. That’s okay?”

He stared at her a moment longer. And then something – not _softened_. But lightened, maybe. Like he’d given up on trying to figure something out.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug, taking the pile from her outstretched arms in a manner that she assumed veered about as close to awkward as his movements ever got.

She started turning to go, job done.

“Hold on,” he said all of a sudden, and her eyes roved obediently back to him, air for her lungs in unusually short supply. “You want your key back?”

“Back?” she echoed softly, not quite understanding.

So, yeah, maybe she’d been a little jumbled ever since she’d offed someone only for him to turn up fine, and then very much _next door_, but she didn’t think she’d blanked on giving him a goddamn key.

He wiggled a shoulder a bit. “Guy who used to live there? Gave me it, y’know, in case of emergency.”

“Oh,” she said. It was so banal an explanation. Entirely _reasonable_. Nothing special. Which wasn’t disappointing, just – unexpected.

He raised his brows at her, forehead tilting upward in a hastening motion, and she realised she hadn’t actually answered his question.

“Um,” she opened with, not decided on where she was going. “Why don’t you hold onto it, yep. In case of… whatever. Looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway!”

He scoffed some at her attempt to inject humour into the proceedings, but nodded before kicking his door shut gently, careful to avoid hitting any of the items he was holding.

Beth stood there blinking a second, before heading home to look in on Danny. And to possibly try to forget every word she’d spoken in her life, ever.

*

She did think, a smattering of times, in an absent fashion, about perhaps changing the locks. Because if Rio had a key – who else might? Was that something a person was supposed to do, when they moved somewhere new, distrust in all the icons of safety? She didn’t think they’d done that, her and Dean, when they’d first slotted into the old house. But maybe that was different, a dull suburban daze with its own rules.

But somehow she didn’t get around to doing anything about it. And she thought – if anyone wanted to try _her_, a criminal, a killer, fucking _let_ them. Especially given who she lived next to. An array of habits speedily became deeply entrenched though – always double locking, never forgetting even one of the chains. She wasn’t naive.

*

Beth had been tempted to ignore the staccato beat on her door, at first. Had assumed it might be the well-meaning but pretty confused elderly lady from the day before on about the recycling again, or that pushy broadband salesman who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Peeking outwards pulled her up short though – she saw Rio _and_ Marcus.

“Hello,” she said with a smile aimed low, once she’d opened up.

Marcus beamed back at her.

“Yeah, can we talk?” Rio demanded, apparently trying to convey something complex, beyond her comprehension, with his eyes.

“Er, come in?” she sort of offered.

Rio nodded tightly, so she welcomed them inside. She got Marcus situated on the couch close to where Danny sat on his favourite chair, her son appearing extremely happy with the awed attention, after explaining the importance of not jostling the broken limb.

Once Marcus seemed entirely settled, she looked over at Rio who’d stayed leaning against the inside of the door, watching. She walked back to him, curious.

“What’s…up?”

He kept an eye trained on the kids a few seconds longer, making sure they were truly engrossed in the animated movie Danny had been watching already, before something vanished from his expression. What remained was downright _terrifying _– all that irritated agitation. She found his control impressive, how he’d shrouded that around his child.

For a moment she must have been transported to another realm, because she started thinking, _gosh remind me not to piss _that_ guy off_, before she remembered – all of it.

“Got a _business_ situation,” he said, shaking his phone a bit. “Need to go deal with it.”

In a vague way she registered it was strange that he’d come over to talk work, weirder too that he’d brought his son with.

“It’s short notice, and my back ups fell through,” he carried on, glaring with impressive levels of rage at his phone.

“Can you watch him?” His gaze canted over to Marcus briefly, then back as he assured himself that she caught his meaning.

_Oh_.

He must have misinterpreted her stunned silence, because he added, “Won’t be long. Hour, tops.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed, so rapidly she wasn’t confident the words had come out correct-sounding.

“Yeah?” he sounded intensely reluctant once she’d consented, his grimace gave her something beyond a warning.

Beth looked into his eyes, finding that much less difficult than it usually was, before giving him a firm, “Yes.”

She didn’t consider it a problem at all. And she felt proud to be asked – despite him making it clear that she was a barrel-scraping option.

“Okay,” he said with a deep exhale. “Not too much sugar,” followed, sounding perhaps the most serious he had throughout the entire conversation.

She smiled her recognition of that, before watching him leave.

*

She’d been tempted to kickoff a batch of cookies but, not knowing how quickly Rio might return, hadn’t wanted to start something they couldn’t finish. So she played some games with the kids when the movie had wrapped up, piece-less ones that Danny was able to join in on easily.

They listed increasingly bizarre items they’d buy at the grocery store, a memory game she’d invented to divert Annie long ago. Then they tried to come up with an entire alphabet of boys’ names – something Annie had used to ground a panicky, pregnant Beth once, a tool she’d utilised many times since.

She slipped outside, when she was satisfied the two children were gleefully chatting, after Rio’s, ‘Yo’, text.

“All good?” he asked, quiet.

She nodded. “You?”

Rio hummed.

They were merely gazing at each other, till he added, “Didn’t get you any bread.”

“That’s…not a problem?” Beth all but squeaked. “I made myself some too.”

“Right.” It wasn’t entirely dismissive. Then, like he didn’t enjoy it but also in a way that suggested it wasn’t totally coating his mouth with a horrible taste either, “Thanks.”

She smiled, tried to gesture with various parts of her upper body that it was no trouble. “Do you-”

He cut her question of with a small shake of his head, and she figured – yeah. Probably for the best.

Beth pushed half of herself back inside to croon, “Marcus? Your daddy’s here.”

“Okay!” he called excitedly. He came over, after giving Danny a detailed goodbye. She moved mostly back inside to let the little boy exit, then tried to busy herself with an examination of her nails so she didn’t feel she was prying at the father-son reunion playing out before her.

“You good, pop?” Rio asked in a warm tone, folding himself lower. He was soon chuckling at the anecdote Marcus decided to regale him with.

“Bye Marcus,” Beth said in a break, with a little wave, before beginning to shut the door, pulling her final foot inwards. She felt guilty for intruding, even if they were camped out on her doorstep.

“Bye ‘liz’beth,” he answered, and she’d not had to wonder where he’d gotten _that_ from.

“Safe trip home!” she added, with a twinkle. “It _is_ a long way.”

Marcus giggled at her silliness. Rio…very much did not. He did offer a taut, “Night,” though, with an upward bob of his head.

She mouthed it back, not sure if he saw. She hadn’t meant to make it voiceless but the word, speech in general, had seemed to get lost somewhere about her windpipe.

Once she’d taken a moment to compose herself, Beth joined Danny so she could cuddle him oh so carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Deep Inside by Incubus.


	5. Time to shake up and prepare for the lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something goes very wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for choking/violence, and generally fucked up dynamics

Beth awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, and it didn’t take long for her to figure out why. A lamp on a nearby table was shining in her face, but rather more – literally – pressing was the hand at her throat.

It wasn’t extensively painful, though certainly concerning, and she seemed to be able to breathe okay. When she tried to talk, it came out far too gurgly. So she focussed on glaring at Rio instead, since it was his arm attached to the hand worrying her flesh, as she struggled to figure out what the fuck was going on, unsure of what she’d even want to say.

“Some cars gone missing,” Rio announced with a cold cast as he squeezed tighter. "Never made it over."

Speaking wasn’t working so well for a few reasons, so she scowled up in the direction of where he stood, confusion as much as anything scrunching around her eyelids and forcing her mouth into a disgruntled moue.

“You up to your old tricks, sweetheart?”

And Beth understood why they couldn’t – ever – put the distrust behind them. But the way things had been going, with him helping her when Danny was in the hospital, the jittering camaraderie of their professional dealings, and her being asked to look after Marcus that time, she’d thought they’d been slouching towards– Well, whatever. Sheer foolishness, evidently.

The pressure affecting her larynx loosened a minimal amount, like he actually wanted her to answer. But she was too incensed. She had to distract herself into it; tried to catalogue some restraining observations.

She was fucking glad the kids weren’t there, were off with Dean, for one. Did Rio know that? It wasn’t unreasonable to assume he had a sense of their schedule. Was _that_ why he felt okay breaking in to do this, or would he have done it anyway– And, no. Not helping.

No gun to be seen, that was kind of an improvement. If she’d been confronted with so much as a glimpse of that awful golden thing, the weapon she’d once wielded, her mind really might have hurtled away from her. Though it rather highlighted his physical prowess, or how small her capacity to _do_ anything about it was. The ease with which he could overpower her, how little he needed the gun and– Oh. So not great either.

Well, how did he fricking get in?! She was almost a hundred percent certain she’d put all the chains on, it was such a huge part of her nightly routine, but–

“Yo,” Rio snapped the fingers of his right hand in front of her face. She’d never seen the gesture performed so sarcastically.

“I don’t have anything to do with–” she managed to get out, before breaking into coughs.

Tears felt as if they were threatening to force themselves from the corners of her eyes, and that was maddening, although she knew it was only a corporeal response, her body reacting in a natural fashion. She wasn’t upset, no, far closer to goddamn irate.

It wasn’t simply that she was being accused of something she hadn’t done – though that wasn’t her favourite reason to be woken up – nor his interrogation technique. She’d thought he _understood_. That she was routinely horrified, ashamed in such a monotonous way, by what she’d done to him. And clearly the universe had found it offensive – how else would he be walking around again, right?

She didn’t think she could stop herself going toe-to-toe with him, that sane ship had sailed long ago, if it had ever truly existed, been more than a foggy mirage. She was never going to let him beat her, take advantage. But she also wasn’t going to risk their shaky accord, kick up some engulfing conflict, over a few piddling cars. Which, actually–

“How many?” she ground out.

“What?”

She refused to repeat herself, certain he’d heard, letting evident indifference to his harsh tone flicker across her face, the roll of her eyes, the slight bulge of her lower lip.

“Five,” he said eventually, listing a strain unwilling.

Beth attempted to make an unimpressed noise, though she didn’t think it came out that well, as she tried to think it over a little more.

“Who?”

Rio sighed, like she was the one being preposterous which was funny as almost anything, but unlocked his grip a smidge further, gesturing for her to go on with his free hand.

She hoped his stupid outstretched arm was getting tired, the asshole.

“Who was supposed to deliver them, after?”

She assumed he wasn’t going to answer for a second, the way his mouth wrenched tight. But then he dropped a name, “Regis.”

Her features fluttered as she mused, hmming very slightly. Then her face lit up.

“Did you see him the other day at the dealership, when you and I were having that meeting?” Maybe she was adapting, she only had to break off once during that, and not for long.

Rio nodded slowly, still heavy with anger.

“He was trying to listen in,” she surmised.

“I figured–” Rio began, then paused, staring into space.

“Figured _what_?” she pressed after a gap, finding his hold had faded to all but a token one.

“Thought he got a lil crush on you.”

Beth scoffed, unable to conjure actual amusement under the circumstances, but not feeling it to be a million miles off either.

“He’s young enough to be my _son_.”

Rio’s features pulled scornful, and a noise fell from him – one she was familiar with from past attempts to lighten the mood. Which she hadn’t been doing. She had no desire to be linked with the actual culprit in his thoughts. And she honestly wasn’t confident Regis was out of his teens – probably not all _that_ much older than Sadie or Sara.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket one-handed, started shooting off a few texts it looked like, a considering guise on.

All the while his left hand carried on resting against her neck, barely any force behind it though. She had no idea which of them he was putting on the show for.

A few minutes later, the pings of received messages started coming through.

“Hmm,” he said, all quiet, “you might be onto something. Regis ain’t around neither.”

Beth made a triumphant noise, though it descended into a short, dry cough, rather ruining her moment.

She pushed the cover away from her, started swinging her legs. When she shoved, hesitant, at the fingers flexing up near her chin, he let her remove them without protest.

“Right,” she started. It came out far too raspy. She kind of sounded like him – it was ludicrous, hateful. Hadn’t he gotten bored of that game, striving to carve himself a twin from her skin? So she dug deep, tried to be as absolutely _her_ as she could instead, whatever the fuck that might mean now. Aimed for something practical, catalysing.

“I’m up now anyway,” her tone was one normally reserved for post-tears children. “Do you want some tea too?”

He stared at her with disbelieving irritation, but then his gaze dropped back to his phone. Something about the situation must have amused him, or made him want to keep an eye on her further, or whatthefuckever. Because then he shrugged an okay.

Rio slunk into the kitchen with notably laxer body language, in an instant acting for all the world like that hadn’t just happened – the accusation, the aggression. She supposed that was her fault for leading the way.

After Beth got the bulky kettle filled with water and up onto the stovetop, she busied herself sourcing mugs. She decided on ginger tea with extra honey for herself, then asked, “Mint, no sweetener?”

She didn’t hear a reply, and when she turned to check that he wasn’t mindlessly nodding to her question, there was an indecipherable mask affixed to the front of his unmoving head.

And fucking – what _now_. If he _wanted_ honey she wasn’t holding the stuff hostage, just _his_ throat presumably wasn’t all raw. And, yeah, she had a sense for his taste in tea, which was his own fault. Didn’t mean she was planning to sell the info to the highest bidder or whatever – much good might it do them.

Finally, and by then she was pretty sure the kettle couldn’t be far off whistling, he said, “Okay.”

She pushed out a huge breath. God, he was so annoying. _And_ dramatic.

“I have teabags, or you can have fresh mint?” Then Beth cursed herself for opening up another set of options. If he was going to take as long again, the water would have cooled completely by the time the tea was served.

But he only gestured indifference, so she decided for him, gathering some fresh leaves from one of the kitchen window boxes.

They ended up at opposite sides of the table, sipping in mostly uncompanionable silence, though he did begrudgingly mutter something about his drink being all right at least.

He crowed a little when the news came in, from his boys, that Regis had been found – with the missing shipment. She was too tired, too appalled, to join in his enthusiasm. She barely mustered up a nod of farewell when Rio sauntered off home.

*

It was only as she yawned her way through her mid-morning that she clocked how many things had apparently been forgotten.

She’d wanted to check on her front door, to see if the chains had been out of place, or if another thing there could have somehow gone awry, but she hadn’t translated that into action, and then Rio had left, skittering any potential evidence. And she hadn’t even thought to ask what Regis’ punishment would be, though she had a sinking suspicion she knew the answer to that one. She should have been more shaken, less resigned to it as a factual consequence, yet it kept getting harder to summon the right reactions.

But more than that – she’d kind of forgotten to be, to visibly express that she was, mad at Rio. For assuming the worst of her, for _threatening_ her in that way. Only – only she wasn’t entirely convinced he’d exactly remembered to threaten her either. It was – bizarre. Or. Or stupidly unremarkable for the two of them.

She decided to take a nap, rather than dwell on it further. Beth fought through her fractious feelings, murmuring, “Algernon, Bartholomew, Curtis, Daniel, um Evan,” and so forth, until she managed to quiet her mind enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Kitchen Sink Drama by Soft Cell.


	6. Do my dreaming and my scheming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hungover Beth is not necessarily the best at coping...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating upped to E for sexual content

Beth grumbled to life, slowly registering the sour fuzziness of her tongue; the dull ache to her head. She glowered at the blinding rays of sunlight peeking in around the insufficient cover provided by her curtains, then let her eyes shut as she fumbled for the bottle of water she’d glimpsed on her night stand.

Hydration helped, but only the bare minimum. She’d gone out the night before, with Annie and Ruby, and maybe there’d been a few too many cocktails; too much excitement over the full coven finally being out on the town together. But there’d also been distinctly needed giggles, and dancing!

Beth had actually danced with a guy too – Harry or Barry, or something. She hadn’t let it go any further than that, despite his eagerness, and Annie’s ludicrous stage whispered encouragements. But it had been nice, knowing that was in fact available to her, if – when – she wanted it, was ready. The guy’s awed enjoyment had been tantalising, even if his grip on her waist had caressed too timidly, the press of his body almost apologetic against her own.

Maybe it had been worth the hangover. Almost. Beth tried to remember, with a hopeful bent, if there might be any bacon in the fridge. She had to decide where to apportion her limited energy first – on food, caffeine or showering. God, she felt _horrible_.

But as her mind lingered over how it had been, moving her hips to the music, with Larry or Gary or whoever he was, as an entranced companion, it wasn’t the _only_ thing she was feeling. And she supposed – well, she desperately needed to feel better, right. And she definitely required a shower anyway, so why not make that clean up _really_ worthwhile.

Besides, she discovered that one of her hands had absently begun playing with her breasts, teasing her nipples into peaks. The indigo v-neck t-shirt she’d been wearing the night before was quickly shoved up to her neck, allowing her ample space in which to touch her chest. When she peeked about, Beth found her bra tangled nearby on the bed, she must have got as far as pulling it off the night before.

The hand not occupied with squeezing at her breasts bumped down over her belly, then further on, finding only a thong adorning her lower half. Beth kicked the covers off forcefully, knocking them entirely to the floor, feeling far too warm, too weighted. One sock, barely half-clinging before, flew from its foot with the motions.

Her left hand caressed idly at her mound over the green, gauzy material of her underwear. She could sense her dampness. Unhurriedly, she worked up to slipping the hand inside, rubbed at the wetness, used it against her clit. She removed her fingers to daub some on first one nipple, then the other, entrancedly observing how they glistened as she grappled her thong off, hustling it down to the sock-less ankle and spreading wide across the bed.

Beth built a series of lazy, haphazard rhythms – enjoying the journey. Sometimes she broke off to run her fingers through her surrounding curls, Dean had never liked – but, well, he’d never have to bother himself with the sight or texture of them again would he.

Teasing at her entrance, hearing that squelch, made her giggle a little. And she thought she really might be onto something with her hangover cure idea, edging towards relaxed, distracted. Soon she had a finger pressed inside herself, pushing deep, and a second followed. She alternated between gently finger-fucking herself, hips arching into it, and massaging her clit, opting to keep her right hand occupied above. The sensation of those digits, pinching harsh at her nipples, was delightful, especially contrasted with her lighter, lubricated ministrations below.

Some outside noises filtered through – the bark of a dog, what might have been a backfiring car – but mundane reality mostly faded from her consciousness. Haziness and pulsations took over.

At least until, “Uh, don’t let me interrupt.”

Her eyes flew open – instinct all she was capable of – which was abundantly terrible. She’d known it was him from the voice, of course. Hearing it, she’d immediately realised – yeah, she probably _had_ been drunk enough to not sort the door the night before. Kind of remembered shoving it closed, then rushing to pee, and not much else before smiling gratefully at her mattress. But a fuck up wasn’t an _invitation_.

She knew what she was supposed to do, of course. Fluster and yell, cover herself, make him leave, _stop_. But she just didn’t want to. It had been so long since she’d felt good, and she was so exhausted – all the time, it seemed. Couldn’t summon the energy for much. What she did do was close her eyes, ignoring the interruption, and real life and _him_, the way she so often wished she was able to get away with. She didn’t hear anything further, so perhaps he’d fucked off, or her ears had thankfully stoppered themselves. Whatever.

Beth had been about to pry open the drawer, grab her vibrator. But somehow the idea of admitting to a need for any assistance at all felt painfully embarrassing, far more so than giving Rio an eyeful, or putting on a show. If she even was, if he hadn’t left. She couldn’t tell, didn’t care.

She worked her fingers faster, applied more force. The image of his face – before she’d shut herself off from it – his slack mouth and intense gaze, was seared into her brain. It had her covertly wetter. Not that she could pretend, at least to herself, that she hadn’t been picturing him before his arrival. It wasn’t as if she had a wealth of fodder to draw on, daydreams of Dean had stopped doing it for her _years_ before the divorce. She’d tried to stop using her Rio recollections like that a while, especially when he’d been dead. But it was a hard rule to stick to.

She’d been focussed on a memory from that time in her bedroom, back in the old house, after– ugh. Before– um. A while ago. How he’d propped her up onto all fours, fucking her back onto him. The way they’d been able to glimpse their joined reflections in more than one of her mirrors. She’d caught his eye running along her vanity, how it had seemed to stick at the lack of familiar items. She’d crowded a few of the Dean-tainted ones onto a random shelf in a closet after he’d stolen her kids away.

She’d struggled to keep her eyes open though, much as she enjoyed the sight of Rio’s body, its ridiculous planes, and the manner in which his face shifted. He’d clearly been revelling in her, his gaze had darted between mirrors, and then repeatedly back down to where he was pushing into her. She hadn’t reckoned she’d appreciate it so profusely – the position. She’d tried it with Dean a couple of times, but it had mostly made her feel silly, like she was auditioning for a part in a Snoop video or something. Dean’s goofy jokes hadn’t exactly got her in the mood either.

But the way Rio’d grabbed her hips, angling her precisely and moaning appreciatively, that hadn’t sullied her with a sense of awkwardness or objectification, had simply made her accept her _sexiness. _It had been relieving to be on the receiving end of of someone who knew exactly what he wanted, and how he was going to get it. Just the same as in that bathroom, where it had been outrageously obvious that he’d thought about what he’d do with the opportunity to touch – to take – her.

At some point he’d made a displeased noise though, and she’d managed to catch his reflection scanning his, then her, arms in annoyance. And then he’d slipped from her, and she’d groaned, okay, maybe pretty profoundly. It wasn’t long till he’d manoeuvred her flat on her back, thrust so deep inside her again that her disquiet had entirely melted away. Only then his movements had turned shallow, and her moans had become almost displeased, thinking he was teasing. Till she’d realised he was dragging one of her hands over, forcing a finger to work at her clit.

He’d waited for her to start a frantic pattern there before he’d dropped his palm back down, catching his balance to pound into her with renewed vigour. She’d come so fucking hard, practically exploding from sentience, clenching around him again and again. When she’d tried to move her hand away, after riding the aftershocks, she’d found one of his paws pressing against her once more, not letting her up.

And he’d ground out, “Don’t stop, yeah,” and she’d nodded, probably would’ve agreed to anything, from him anyway, right then.

She’d assumed multiple orgasms were a thing of her past, her attempts to get herself off turned largely perfunctory. But he’d carried on fucking into her with such determination, getting her to keep touching herself, and then he’d been licking and biting at her neck.

When he’d whispered near her ear, “Where you want me to come?” it had all gotten very _heightened_.

Because, well. Okay, so perhaps she’d been a bit over-excited once she first had him, deliciously naked, in her bed. And she’d sort of wanted to show off a little, like he’d had the chance to in that bathroom, right. She’d made sure to get her mouth on him, basically the second after nudging him to the mattress, sucking and licking his cock. She hadn’t wanted to stop, and he’d surprised her by not hauling her up or away, allowing her to do whatever she wanted.

He’d spaced out after shooting down her throat, but not for as long as she’d expected. When he’d shaken himself from it, he’d practically dragged her atop him, settled her against his mouth. And she’d felt faintly farcical, at least at first. Hadn’t thought it was the kind of thing that happened outside of erotica, or Annie’s crazy stories. But she’d got the hang of it fast, riding his mouth as he tongued and drew at her. It had been so long since she’d had a head between her thighs she’d stopped even _fantasising_ about it, and it had been supremely better than she’d recalled.

It had taken her a while, embarrassment and that out of practice sensation not helping. Rio certainly hadn’t seemed to mind though, slurping enthusiastically and letting his large fingers join the party when she was good and ready.

After soaking his face, she’d ended up collapsed on the bed too. And it wasn’t as if they’d snuggled, god, he’d just sort of rubbed at her flesh a bit as she came down, that was all. Only then she’d become rather _aware_ of his erection squished against her ass, and she’d writhed slightly, and then a lot. And that was how she’d ended up on all fours in the first place and – yeah.

And he’d been whispering some of that the whole time, as he’d pulled her towards him over and over, slamming into her with that delectably punishing tempo. Words barely half-heard and probably at least a quarter nonsense anyway. But she’d caught parts, how he’d loved fucking her mouth, wanted to paint her tits, ass, face. Her reactions hadn’t been…unenthusiastic.

So when he’d asked her where he should – _do that_, it had whipped it all up, the relentless, filthy assault on her mind as well as her body. And then she’d been coming again, muttering, “Here, here, here, here.”

He’d hissed an indicipherable string of curses, and she’d _felt_ his dick spurting inside her and – oh, god.

Afterwards she’d stumbled, naked, to her en suite, ostensibly to clean up. Beth had caught his refracted focus on her form while she’d made her way, sated and hungry all together. She’d shrugged on the robe she’d found in there, tried to tamp down her wild hair, sober herself.

Because it had all gone a bit wrong. She’d just wanted to get the longing out of her system, had convinced herself that was possible, despite the way the last time had done nothing of the sort. She’d been trying to allow the thing between them a proper goodbye, because she had to give it all up. For her kids. When she’d come out of the bathroom he was still settled in her bed, and it was the worst thing in the world. She’d figured he might be up and out already, his usual energetic self. But – no. So she’d perched on the edge, laboured to ensnare him with her sombre mood. It went terribly. She’d said and done it all incorrectly, blundering through, had no rightness left to offer.

That slice was bad, undoubtedly. But it was all wrapped up in the same memory. And maybe there was something masochistic to her. Because now at least, considering his eyes on her, if they were, remembering how he’d looked that day in her bed after she’d told him to go, how angry– That was when she finally orgasmed, erupting on her hand with a series of grunts.

When she eventually extracted her fingers they were soaked, puckered, and she lifted the pad of her pointer to her teeth, biting down serenely on it without thought.

Beth might have heard a slight noise, but she hadn’t been sure if any of the moans and groans she’d been hearing throughout could have been echoes, not her own. She worked up to opening her lids, not sure if him still remaining or being long gone would be worse.

She was confronted with the vision of Rio in one of her chairs, two fists carefully gripping the arms of it, white-knuckled. He looked shocked and kind of pissed off and – _good_. It added to her languid satisfaction. She saw the tent to his jeans, the blow of his pupils, the way his jaw was working overtime.

He stared at her for a few rough breaths more; considering, wild. She wasn’t clear on, uhh, plenty. Then he heaved himself up with an annoyingly fluid motion, giving her one last glare before heading out of her apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from In My Room by The Beach Boys.


	7. get a second glance, but I’ll never get used to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> retribution and risk

Beth had done a successful job of avoiding him since– uh, well, over the past few days. A combination of holing up and obsessive peeping, with a dash of inside intel on parts of his schedule, had carried her through. He’d not been in touch, hadn’t offered any explanation as to what had been so important he’d barged into her place without warning, and she certainly wasn’t about to ask.

But she hazarded – a couple of days and maybe it’d be okay. Well not _okay_, but…containable. One of those things they packed into a box and didn’t really speak of, tried to avoid alluding to. Because they’d banged in a bathroom, and then he’d popped back into her life, smashing at a car, but stuff had carried on fine, for the most part. And then they’d had sex in her bed and that had been a mess but he’d lured her to him again with mailed body parts, and they’d sort of found their twisted equilibrium. Plus she’d shot him, had seen him bleeding out on the ground, but he’d dragged himself back from the beyond, and they’d meandered a route to grudging civility, or some macabre approximation of it anyway. So. So it was an experience to file under Not A Good Idea, definitely. But it might not end the world.

Except – except tonight. She’d been toying with the concept of dropping out of the meet with Rio and Marvin – a potential new supplier, had even wildly wondered if she could get away with sending Annie in her stead. But then _Cisco_ had messaged to tell her it was being rescheduled. She’d barely had contact with Cisco over the last few weeks, so that had rankled like a weak slap, the method of delivery. Rio had seemed increasingly willing to speak to her directly, generally surly or unimpressed or both, and none too pleased with her tone most of the time either. But, still.

She wasn’t sure how to take it, the fact that Rio had called it off – because she was certain that was what had happened. Marvin had been over-eager, there was absolutely no way he’d risk losing the opportunity. It was possible that Rio didn’t want to face her either, but she rather suspected he was slyly giving her an out, the pompous dick. She would handle seeing him when she had to, she was _fine_. She was.

And she could have gone on musing in that same annoyed vein, worked herself up, found the – Dutch, perhaps – courage to yell at him over it. Except then her phone beeped again.

*

‘Swing round’, the text said, and she’d been telling herself for the full six minutes she’d spent ogling it that she absolutely would not. A blatant lie, unconvincing even without the sped up beat of her pulse, the anxiety pinching in her gut.

During the very short walk over she repeated in her mind that she was going to _knock_. But of course she didn’t, not when the moment actually came. Because as much as she claimed that he was an unpredictable, possibly immortal, maniac, maybe she did understand him – his signals – at least a little. When she pushed at Rio’s front door, she wasn’t surprised in the slightest that it opened to her touch; hadn’t even hesitated in nudging it once she’d arrived there.

He’d left it on the latch – for her, she could only assume. She closed it properly once she was in, mostly because that was habit now. She forgot to be concerned about trapping herself there with him, rather more preoccupied with the size of the ensuing fuck up.

What had happened the other day had been, okay, bad. He shouldn’t have stayed to watch, and she definitely had no excuses for the fact that she’d let him. But. Heat of the moment and all. If a person squinted, perhaps shut one eye entirely, they could make that understandable, justifiable. As long as they put the effort in.

Invitations, pre-meditation, however, that was a different damn story, a certainly slippery slide. Assuming she’d gotten it right of course, that her punishment wasn’t to be a completely different sort of sticky end–

“In here,” his voice, emitting from somewhere to her right, interrupted her reverie, and she turned towards it.

She’d not been inside before, had mostly only caught fragmentary glances of his interior previously. The time he’d allowed his front door open to her the longest, when he’d thrown that t-shirt at her, she hadn’t been able to focus on details too much. But she didn’t think she’d seen that door, the nearest one, open before. And it seemed to be where his drawl might have originated from, so.

Beth stepped falteringly forwards, not able to see him, hoping the obverse might be true too.

Once she’d entered, the impact of her conclusion was almost hysterical in nature – she needn’t have worried about catching onto the wrong end of the stick. But, even if she should have expected it, she wasn’t prepared for the visual. Rio was spread across his giant bed, totally nude, lazily fisting his already hard cock – which appeared to glimmer with some sort of lube. And he glared heatedly, straight at her, almost _through_ her eyes. And he just. Didn’t seem bothered. At all. A cruel smile started to prick at the corners of his mouth, more than a hint of challenge to his face, in his stare.

It was _awful_. Not aesthetically, that was for goddamn sure. But – ohforfuckssake. And she couldn’t _not_ peek, though she carefully avoided letting her gaze fix on his chest. It was mesmerising, the way his thumb swiped at the head, the changed pace he began to hit, where his other hand rambled. And he kept on watching her, which was worse. At least she’d had the damn decency to ignore him when their roles had been reversed. She knew that she could, should, walk away. It wasn’t a complex journey, after all. Beth doubted he’d care if she did, clearly he’d manage a fine old time without her presence. But she could in no way stand the idea of him winning this bout. The way he’d preen and smirk, and _think_ it loudly at her forever more. She knew he’d privately crow to himself over it because – because she had. Just a bit.

If she didn’t suck it up now how would she ever prove that she was able to handle anything thrown at her, quite as well as he did.

So she gasped in a fortifying breath, before seating herself primly on a nearby chair. Beth gritted her teeth, decided to simply get through it. Almost immediately her hands were grasping at the leather of the seat, hoping her tension wasn’t palpable, obvious. She found herself impressed with the control, or maybe simply the dislike for her, that he possessed, because her desire to touch – him or herself or anything – quickly ratcheted to the almost unbearable. He’d apparently managed to just sit there in her room, doing nothing at all, while seeing _her_, so she vowed to match it. She had to give up on entirely hiding her squirming however, deemed it impossible.

He seemed to laugh at her, a little mean but thankfully quiet, but then got caught up, suddenly possessed less ability for amusement. She could tell how prominent _that_ vein had raised, the way the pre-come was leaking, that his breaths had turned to pants – and groans.

“Yeah,” Rio said, staring _right_ fucking at her. He read, if possible, even more annoyed than his usual.

She might have muttered it back.

The desire to relieve the pressure, at least a smidge, between her legs was practically mindblowing. And not in the good way. She presumed that steam was threatening to release from her ears. But she couldn’t let him win, she wouldn’t.

His hand started picking up speed, rubbing rougher over his shaft, and her respiration didn’t sound much less ragged than his. She was kind of desperate for him to be _done_, so it’d be over. Didn’t want to have to watch any longer, yearned to slink off home, where she could pleasure herself, maybe. Or – or _definitely_. Except that…once it was finished, it would be _something __that __had happened_. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to deal with that.

But she didn’t have any control over it, and then he was spurting – too soon, nowhere near fast enough – absolutely _everywhere_, she could have sworn she saw some hit his chin. He groaned at a truly unreasonable pitch, and Beth wasn’t convinced that wasn’t at the very least partially on purpose.

There were so many things she hated about him, and perhaps that was why she’d never zeroed in on ‘comes with his eyes open’ as a major problem. But it was an obscene habit, had the power to gut her. She would have been able to handle it, the galling affair, if it wasn’t for that. Seeing everything flashing there was _horrible_, but worse was knowing that she couldn’t hide her reactions, not from him. How she had to bite so hard at her bottom lip to keep from moaning, that destroyed look she was certain she was sporting, the perilous quality to her breathing.

She ran out of there, in predictable fashion, almost instantly. Fumbled her way into her apartment, spent precious moments on securing the chains because – not a chance in hell. She wasn’t capable of facing him again that evening, would rather swan dive out a window. She had a hand inside herself and her jeans puddled elsewhere before she made it to her bedroom, grabbing her vibrator. She barely teased, spared no time on building, it felt like mere seconds before she was coming on her toy – though a lot of basic concepts had turned somewhat fuzzy on her.

And it had been good, but not enough. So she did it again. And again.

*

But once that had happened, the floodgates set wide, it started to recur – well, not _all_ the time. But, around responsibilities and life and small consuming licks of pride, more and more.

It took place oftener, though certainly not exclusively, at hers. And she wanted to hate the way that inequality fell, but lacked the strength to make herself. She’d leave the chains off, some sans children nights, and he somehow seemed to _sense_ it. It was uncanny, but no more so than a dead man walking about. The mortifying part was when they moved to casually planning some _session_. Him, but then eventually also her – buoyed by the smarting acceptability that chronic repetition formed, making a suggestion at the end of a conversation, or with an appealing message.

It wasn’t as if she were a total moron. She was super clear that it was a terrible idea. The proof was in how she wasn’t tempted, not for a single second, to fill Annie or Ruby in. Though sometimes she thought they suspected – well, not the specifics of the depravity. But that there might be the potential for hanky-panky of some sort, though she kept trying to explain that Rio detested her, and she wasn’t too keen on him either.

She’d never actually made a list of the type of people one definitely shouldn’t sleep with, but she had to suppose that colleagues, those who hate you, and the recently undead would be up near the top of it. Not that they were actually sleeping together, by any definition. They’d definitely kicked through some boundary, but maybe it wasn’t as bad as all that. It hadn’t appeared to change much between them, and if it sluiced away even a modicum of tension, perhaps it had its place. And anyway, Beth couldn’t quite handle looking at the issue face-on, came at it via wobbling arcs, retreated from considering it too much, shuddering away from excessive introspection.

Her desire didn’t show any indication of slackening, quite the opposite. The more they _did that_, the greater her urge to repeat it grew. It was like a repressed aspect was blooming and blooming, ever mightier. She wasn’t sure she could stop touching herself, an addiction to orgasms apparently forming. And she didn’t _need_ him there, was able to enjoy getting herself off perfectly well without his company. But it was, yeah. Unacceptably hot with him added to the mix as a quasi-willing captivated observer.

And there was something enjoyable, beyond measure, to watching Rio grope himself too. She swore he was taking longer and longer each instance, driving her to distraction. There was such temptation to desperately wanting to play with her body as she saw the show, not letting herself, only to scramble home and find that aching release. She assumed that was what he did, so physically near, after beholding her too. It was all just…scorching. And. And easier than developing an active imagination, or a porn habit, okay.

And fine, sort of. Beth was too, with the whole shebang. She was – yeah, completely fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Living Next Door to Alice by Smokie.


	8. sweet names I call, it's a wonder I don't fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're...not smart

They’d been at Rio’s _three_ times in a row now. And while that wasn’t without its perks, Beth was getting a little – frustrated.

His hand on his cock had slowed, movements glacial. It was obvious Rio was teasing, though which of them that was primarily aimed at seemed a hard thing to guess. She’d never worked out where was better to look anyway, hungrily at the details of how he touched himself, or at his face as he revelled in it. And it was all powerfully _overloading_. His sneering and bright taunting, how often they’d been_ there_, the way her turn had been denied for so long.

And she knew the whole arrangement had to be fragile, in addition to impressively stupid. Probably wouldn’t withstand much shaking at its edges without collapsing. But the juddering of her hips, the insufficient pressure of her seam, the unreasonable wetness below… Beth kept her eyes on Rio’s as she slipped a hand inside her jeans, crept under the waistband. The angle wasn’t ideal, but at least it was _something_. She didn’t even move really, content at first with having made contact with her clit, relishing in the reality of how soaked she’d already known she was.

“Nuh uh uh.” Rio’s voice had an almost sing-song quality to it, and Beth sighed.

He had to be right, this idiotic game of theirs clearly had rules and–

“Wanna see.”

That froze her – the blood in her veins, the air in her nostrils. She goddamn blushed, a response she'd assumed she’d lost the capacity for, what with all the insane things the two of them had done. Or watched. Or. Whatever.

And she didn’t even get _why_. Because he’d definitely seen everything already. Her pussy clenching around her fingers – that one time pretty much her entire hand, her vibrator, or _nothing_ as she worked and worked on her clit. Plus on a couple of memorable, if long past, occasions – him. But the idea of doing that _with_ Rio, for him, at the same time, unclothed. _Here_. That was – no. Copiously terrifying; too large an idea to toy with. And, cool – at least it turned out she’d not in fact forfeited the ability to notice a point of no return.

“You live here,” she countered.

He hmmed, and she saw his head move a fraction, unsure if it was a gesture of agreement or something more random.

What she wished to convey, if not say out loud, was that_ afterwards_ he could laze about in his own bed, as clothed or not as he felt. But she’d be awkwardly stumbling around after the constituent parts of her outfit, so she was able to skitter home. And asking him now if he wanted to watch her do that shortly might earn her a lascivious joke, but he wouldn’t really mean it. Or not as much as he wouldn’t.

Because their guards might get a little worn away _during_, fine, but she’d caught unfortunate glimpses of how he looked at her after – disgust and regret and loathing sliding back into his expression. And that wasn’t what she–

He opened his mouth again, and she recognised that he could convince her, almost always, whatever it was. He fractured every part of her logic, made everything sound so simple.

But what he said was, “How ‘bout next time, you don’t come wearing so many clothes.”

Her head bobbed, too many times. The gratefulness she felt flooding, that he wasn’t pushing despite the way she had, choked at her. And then her hips jostled around, and it was frightful, how she could tell that he _knew_ the moment she pressed one of her fingers inside herself. It was, god, _something_ to be so well-scrutinised, overly comprehended.

Beth decided to compromise, deftly opening the buttons of her blouse with her other hand, then shoved it entirely open. Her actions revealed a not _new_ new, but fairly recently purchased, lacy bra. Rio’s hot gaze moved to her chest, searing its distracting reward.

A memory – dulled now, but still possessing bite – stung at her mind, out of nowhere. Although once it had appeared, she was surprised it hadn’t surfaced before, given its relevance. She’d done it once for Dean – or, not quite this, but. Dean had whisper-asked her to masturbate for him. And she’d been young and thought herself in love and was filled with idealism for their partnership, so of course she’d humoured him.

He’d seemed shocked, if curious, about the amount of time she’d spent on her clit. Dean had pretty much always narrowed in on literally finger-fucking her as prelude to, or replacement for, sex – concerned with opening her wide and thrusting repeatedly. But she hadn’t noticed till too late how freaked he’d appeared at her take on that, pounding and thrashing, and drawing out her orgasm. Somehow the experience had left an unpleasant imprint, she hadn’t wanted to show him that again. Which hadn’t been a problem as Dean has never asked for a repeat performance.

“What you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Nothing,” Beth said, wanting it to be true, clinging to the perfectly pleasant visual Rio presented, aiming to silence her thoughts.

He’d sped back up, not quite fucking his fist in earnest, but getting nearer it. Sometimes his eyes fell to her hand under her jeans, and she didn’t believe he’d been blessed with x-ray vision, but it felt as if he tracked each tiny move she made nonetheless.

“Liar,” he chided.

And she. Wasn’t averse to conversation, necessarily. But it seemed prone to dangerous pitfalls. Though if he was _offering_–

“What are you thinking about?” It came out more breathy than biting, Beth tried to tell herself she was okay with that.

“A fucking liar.” That tone was his typical one with her now, unkind, sinking into hostility. “Or, hmm, fucking a liar.”

God. Rio looked unacceptably pleased with himself. Her hips shifted further as her ass scooted forwards in the chair, thighs yawning apart. Her feet planted against the base of his bed.

Beth couldn’t help missing his eyes on all of her. Her own lids kept sweeping down, it was hard to keep her vision of Rio from swimming away. And she needed something else–

“So next time,” he said, “what you gonna come round in?”

“Nothing,” she answered immediately, making him laugh – short and surprised, if unfocussed.

“Yeah, gonna wander the halls bare?”

“Oh.”

Thinking was difficult, damn it.

“How ‘bout one of them lil robes of yours?”

She wondered if he was remembering the same moment – her perched next to his naked body, in her old bed.

And she could – could imagine it. It wasn’t a bad scene to hold up against closed eyes. Him, uh, exactly like that, ever picture-perfect, nude and beautiful and turned on before her in his expensive bed. With her shedding the robe, on his preposterously pricey chair, exposed and fucking herself, for him. It sounded like a recipe for certain disaster. And she just – she really wanted it.

It was a struggle, but she forced her eyes open when she was getting there – and heard he couldn’t be far off either. Mutual orgasms weren’t something she’d particularly quested for in life, not for anything other than convenience anyway. But the two of them coming apart, staring at each other, presumably trawling through some of the same thoughts, it was. Shit, extreme.

She stayed probably a beat too long, captivated, before recollecting reality. Beth averted her gaze as she removed her hand and wiped it on her jeans, then rushed off, struggling to hold her blouse closed.

*

She didn’t plan it, the next day, had no specific intent. She simply woke up – horny. Which wasn’t anything strange, not with their frantic pastime, and especially given the mishap of the previous night. How long it had been since he’d been round to _see_ her still twisted within too.

So Beth didn’t think much of sliding her hand along, between, finding herself entirely undressed. Fuck, she hadn’t showered after stumbling, dazed, home and she was still – or again, it was hard to tell – drenched. She let herself tease, mostly plying her clit with attention, tentatively touching at her entrance but not really pushing in.

And she did hear it, or thought she might have anyway, what could have been a noise at her door. But she wasn’t sure, and didn’t exactly feel like stopping to investigate. Plus, after the shift last night, she wasn't capable of excavating a route to spinning co-presence as a good idea.

Then her phone rang.

She could have ignored it, obviously, but if he had something to say – she wanted to get it.

“You know I can hear you, yeah?” Rio’s voice was gruff, veering spiteful.

“Huh?”

“You got your bedroom window wide open, and it’s right next to my study. I can hear every fucking moan here.”

“You have a study?” she asked, grasping for some semblance of sense.

He snorted, but it didn’t sound amused, closer to incredulous. Right, his floor plan probably hadn’t been his main point.

“Don’t wanna let me in?”

“Well,” Beth said, “it’s not so much don’t want to as can’t be bothered. I’m _busy_.” A whine escaped.

He sniffed, something sharp. “Aight, gimme a sec.”

She figured he was settling himself into a similar situation. And, honestly, she should have been able to conjure up some embarrassment – lord, this couldn’t be the first time he’d heard her from that spot, probably not by a long shot. Beth tried to find outrage, she did, and the strength to recognise it for a dire idea – whatever it was he was angling for, reciprocal listening or perhaps more active participation. But, at this point, what was a little phone sex between, whatever, antagonistic colleagues who were probably going to end up murdering each other properly one day. At least they wouldn’t be in the same room, it was practically a safe step _up_.

She didn’t hear more from him, but saw that the call hadn’t ended. So she switched it to be on speaker, and dropped her phone to a nearby pillow.

Beth’s eyes folded shut as she continued teasing her clit, ass dancing leisurely against the sheet. Anticipating the cadence of his voice, what he might say, thrilled her and forced her to slow.

When her eyes flickered open several minutes later though, she screamed and jumped straight up on her mattress, hands balled into skittish fists.

It had looked like a scene from a horror movie at first, but then her perception righted itself. Beth understood that she was seeing Rio completing his climb through her bedroom window.

She clambered down, nearer, to ask, “What the hell are you doing?”

He pulled himself up fully, rolled his shoulders once with a casual motion, sight trailing her naked body with a smirk. She refused to indulge him. “What? It’s a real wide ledge.”

Beth’s eyes bugged, then slowly narrowed. “Have you – have you done that before?”

He shrugged his acknowledgement, bottom lip jutting out briefly.

“That’s dangerous!” she yelled. She wanted to _hit_ him, but her right hand was rather damp, and their track record with violence was atrocious.

“Only dangerous if you fuck it up.”

The ease with which he said it, the blistering stupidity of the statement, set her spluttering. And the way he didn’t make the slightest effort to hide that he enjoyed getting reactions like that out of her only served to enrage her further.

Worry, annoyance, horniness – it was all still swirling about her, along with the unnameable emotions that lived in the places where those sensations touched. She stormed into the chair, the one he always took, dragging it closer to her bed with a few wiggles. She got her feet settled at the mattress, and pointedly ignored him.

Beth got a finger back on her clit, rubbing gently, attempting to ease herself back to where she’d been. Her other hand played through her hair, then down over her neck, to her chest.

Searching for the most riling thing to say, she started moaning. “Oh god, oh Rio, oh fuck me. Fuck me please. Yeah. Oh, your mouth, mmm–”

She glanced up at him then, saw the skin around his eyes lose its slack as his eyebrows raised. His lips pursed as he came to a decision. Very deliberately, not looking away from her, Rio made a big production of removing items from his pockets and placing them on her night stand.

She only registered that he was barefoot when he started shimmying out of his clothes. It wasn’t long before they were all littering her floor, with him on her bed, leaning against her pillows, legs spread broad. It agitated her to see him there, looking, as usual, as if he belonged wherever he was, more than anyone else could claim. He seemed to be composed almost entirely of tense points – cheekbones to ankles. Beth’s blame seethed inwards.

Then he dolloped a lavish handful of her fancy moisturiser on his dick, rubbing in a way she was intimately familiar with, yet remained awfully keen to catch.

She kept on with her production, moaning out his name, giving voice to imaginings. Only – only the style had changed a bit, possessed less of a taunting quality. It was so easy to picture truly enacting it now, that was the problem. Her riding his cock, it was right there after all, or, hell, his mouth as she watched his teeth drive into his bottom lip. She hated how _hot_ he struck, all the fucking time.

Rio gave her a calculating look, and she was ready for payback. Got prepared to hear her name groaned slow, or explicit descriptions of things he’d done to – or maybe near – her.

He tilted his head back, stretching the bird at his throat, burrowing deeper into her sanctuary to say, “C’mon.” It was a vindictive challenged if ever she’d heard one.

Beth’s eyes pushed huge. Rio’s gaze dropped to his dick, lewd, then dragged back to her, suggestion beyond unmistakable. And no, that wasn’t. It wasn’t playing fair! There had to be _rules_ to it. She might have exploded one or two over the last couple of days, but _this_ was clearly unacceptable.

It was obvious he thought he’d beaten her, a slyly victorious bent to his attitude.

So she hauled herself on to the bed, remaining about as far from him as possible, up on her knees, finger never leaving its place. Beth knew that she could end this fast, she’d been tantalising herself, prolonging the inevitable. Once she shoved her fingers inside her cunt, it’d be a short fall to orgasm. And he had to be aware of that too, had seen it play out enough times. So she shuffled closer, incapable of backing down.

Beth kept on moaning, whining out his name. Not for any reason other than _because_.

And he carried on coaxing her, saying things like, “You wanna fuck me so bad, come here,” naked competitiveness shining.

She must have tumbled too far with a wriggle, leaned wrong, because next she was rubbing her entrance at the head of his cock, and maybe _that_ was okay, that wasn’t quite– But then she was holding herself open, and it caught, and he didn’t stop her, not in the _slightest_. All of a sudden she was sliding down, tortuously slow, unprepped, wet as she was. And she had a far off thought about a condom, but she didn’t grasp how to pause, and Beth didn’t think she even _had_ any, which felt as if it would be shameful to admit to him, though she wasn’t sure why.

And Rio just. Let her work herself open on him, brazenly watching. Until she shifted experimentally a couple of times, and he grabbed at her hips, started fucking up into her, holding her in place. She wasn't able to stop crying out, the _relief_ was so massive, all consuming. There was a moment where she thought she could pull off, stop it, that it wouldn’t count and they'd be able to carry on with how it’d been, prevent themselves from ruining it all, if–

But then it was too late, and Beth couldn’t find a path to regret, not with satisfaction, and that filled feeling, gripping every part of her. When the power of motion returned, she found she’d crushed close, her face in his neck, mouth open against his skin. She pulled off and away gingerly, caught him gazing at the mess on the inside of her thighs when she’d collapsed down before his furious glare, and that line in his forehead she recognised so well, found its way back.

With precise movements he grabbed his cell, keys, whatever else had been in his pockets, and then her robe, hanging by the bed. She only gaped as he tied that around his waist, before he sauntered off. He might have been humming, but there was a buzzing in her ears, colouring everything with unreality.

Beth stared at the pile of clothing he’d left on her floor with distinct dismay. Then she decided, fuck it, he wasn’t getting any of that back, before struggling up and pulling the t-shirt on. Just. Just to be comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from When I'm Cleaning Windows by George Formby.
> 
> Also! Random unprotected sex is Not A Good Idea! Safe sex is cool ✊
> 
> Neither is using something like moisurister/lotion as (vaginal) lubricant a good idea! Particularly if it's perfumed or has any drying ingredients or is something that can affect pH balance or something that the skin can't fully absorb. Thanks to ppl in the comments who noted that ✊
> 
> Beth and rio are extremely uhh Not Smart, but FYI I was imaging that Beth's fancy moisturiser was something unscented for sensitive skin which is def not ideal to be using but less likely to cause irritation/infection.


	9. even when there’s nothin’ there but gloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, they're capable of being sillier.

On Friday evening, Beth tidied with vicious zeal. She scrubbed the barely used microwave; bagged up the clothes ready for donation; cleaned out the filters on _both_ vacuums finally.

It wasn’t like they’d had a standing Friday date night, _god_. It was just that over the weeks she’d scoured a better sense of the configuration of Rio’s schedule, and he’d always possessed a terrifying ability to glean hers. And Friday nights when neither had any children about, well. They’d fallen into a pattern of definitely _entertaining_ the other, increasingly often at his apartment more recently.

She’d learnt that about him, at some point, couldn’t pin when. How he tried to avoid having much in the way of business scheduled over the weekends, especially the ones where he had Marcus. And no matter what, he cared to underscore the end of the working week on a Friday night somehow. It was eerily traditional, made her want to ponder its roots. She recognised the desire, though her twin jobs as mother and criminal had no end. There was something to noting survival through another seven days, cheering the temporary break in school duties, lusting for the fleeting illusion of relaxation.

So maybe custody-less Fridays, requiring no greater scheduling efforts than a well-placed nod, if that, had become a bit of a ritual without her exactly noticing. Until the striking loss.

Because obviously that wouldn’t happen _now_. Not after they’d – she’d – fucked everything into ruins. What they’d been up to before had been – messy, sure. But it wasn’t as if she could refute that she wanted him, nor the reverse – puzzling as _that _was. The potent deniability of keeping their hands to themselves, the possibility – nay, the need – of absconding almost immediately afterwards, that had been good. And safe. And liberating.

The irritating sparking fire had lingered between them, even after everything, perhaps powered more by it in a twisted fashion. But if Rio wasn't able to shut that off, it was clear that that was all it was for him, gnarled sexual energy. There was no mistaking the way he usually regarded her. And it wasn’t like she didn’t understand it, she’d _killed_ him, forfucksake. But. God. She’d spent so long trapped in a broken marriage, starved of love and the right kind of touch. She couldn’t burn herself in a, what, enemies-with-benefits hate-sex pit. It would be too sad, unrelentingly draining.

Always the way he’d looked, at her, afterwards – it had felt akin to blades slicing her flesh. Which was bad enough when they’d simply been dancing with a hand for the other. But with him recently, or, fuck, _still_, inside her? No. That wasn’t a road she could keep going down. She’d immolate, she knew she would. And the fact that she’d been the one to fail, to fold, in the end – that charred at her insides. If there’d been some miraculous force preventing him from knowing, how desperately she yearned for him, that had surely been torn apart. She’d given in to his challenge so eagerly, climbed on him, edged every part of her close.

She knew she should’ve gone out, laboured to take her mind from it fully. But she couldn’t stomach facing Annie and Ruby – they’d see through her, want to know the cause of her glumness. And that wasn’t something she was prepared to share, maybe not ever. So she busied herself with tasks, had a single bourbon when she was done, then hid inside a bubble bath.

Her mind might have drifted to Rio, but only, like, wondering what he was doing. That was all. Whether he had business over the next few days that she didn’t know anything about. How he was toasting the death of another week. She doubted he was home, moping. Maybe he was sucking down a pretentious foreign beer in a trendy bar, letting some other tipsy housewife lead him to a bathroom. She still despised that she had no idea whether that was a rare occurrence for him.

After emerging from the bath, and slipping on a pink and purple paisley robe, it was a while till she got around to checking her phone. She was expecting a possible update or two from Kenny, he was increasingly frustrated towards the end of a stint with Dean, eager to converse with her on random topics. Beth always diligently responded, though not strictly promptly. When she did look, there wasn’t anything from the kids, but there was something awful. ‘You coming?’ from Rio.

She had to reread it several times, before she’d convinced herself she hadn’t mistaken it, the message or the sender. He couldn’t be insane enough to think they could streamline things back to how they’d been? Or to want to– _No_. She’d already been planning to – _something _in the aftermath. Learn to hate fresh air through always locking her windows up tight, soundproof the whole place, buy the fanciest reinforced steel door, _move_.

It was catching sight of her reflection that set her wavering, considering. The robe forced her to remember the last time she’d been at his, when she’d felt so dangerous, touching herself and talking with him. How innocent that seemed in retrospect, comparatively. It made her chuckle a little – in a wry, choked style, because it rang like a dumb coincidence at first, it wasn’t odd for her to be wearing one of her robes, after all. Beth had to admit she had quite the collection. But then. The way desperate heat sprouted at the thoughts, the battering her pride had taken at being bested, the possibility that he was offering a do-over where she knew she wouldn’t be the one to lose… It started to taste closer to something out of her control, a demand of fate, the more she contemplated it.

The concern formed, then lingered, that this, and perhaps large swathes of it all, had been Rio dragging her to some elaborate punishment she couldn’t understand. But one last time, that was an alluring thought, which started to creep towards a _fuck it_. She’d be walking in with her eyes open, right. And then a proper farewell. No dramatics, no money on the night stand. That last time had been had been a misstep, of epic proportions, but also – while fulfilling in the moment it didn’t really strike as a satisfying ending. They’d barely had the chance to touch each other, it made sense to need to put it to bed properly. And then they’d be able to go back to the real normal. Which she was totally capable of. She’d turned him down before, after all, never let him get her on top of that desk. And she _hated_ him for winning their game. She had that strength somewhere to face him again, conclude it in a way that didn’t fill her with desperate shame, she had to.

Deeply amused at her outfit, she made her way to his apartment, head held high. But when she nudged at his door, it didn’t budge. Beth had to fish her phone from a billowing pocket, double check she hadn’t hallucinated the text. It was definitely there, hadn’t even been sent that much earlier. So she forced herself to knock, the buzzing nerves almost eating her ability to breathe entirely. The idea that she’d gotten it all wrong haunted her. Maybe he was going to put her through the torture of a talk. Or, hey, it could just be a bullet to the brain, which might be far preferable.

Rio answered, fully dressed but for his sockless feet. He took in her appearance with what looked like a grimace. But he stepped aside to let her enter, then shoved the door closed once she was in, reaching over her shoulder. And then he simply surveyed her. His face was distressingly blank. She’d thought that on a few occasions before throughout their potted history, but she realised now that she’d been wrong. At least then she’d been abundantly clear that he had his walls up and didn’t mind her knowing it. Now, she wasn’t sure he had any better idea than her what he was thinking.

She didn’t tremble. Or if she did, it was only because she was nervy, and not as warm as she was used to. He must not have had the heat on, or anyway she was normally more clothed, plus heartily distracted. And it was all wrong, this wasn’t how it went. She was used to letting herself in, finding him full swing. Not normal and dressed. There weren’t supposed to be awkward preludes, or the horrifying threat of small talk hanging.

Beth was aggressively grateful for the sight of his t-shirt though. And it all came crashing down on her, in that quick acknowledgement of her appreciation. Because. Try as she had to avoid any glimpses of his chest, ever since they'd started their ridiculous sport, she’d not been entirely successful. The visual evidence of what she’d done was poisonous, agonising. But worse were what she was concerned were the telltale signs of surgery. Because if they were real, not illusory illuminations, then. Then she _hadn’t_ executed him. And he was just a man, one who’d had a near miss, possessed no supernatural powers. If that was true, the universe wasn’t to be trusted, she had to care about the decisions she made. It meant he hadn’t been sent back to torment her, they weren’t cursed to waltz around each other forever, her obsession with him was entirely of her own making. And he hadn’t wrought proper vengeance against her – and that was too–

He grabbed at the knot of her robe’s sash then, not to untie, simply a firm hold. His knuckles pressed warm against her belly through the thin material. Beth saw his gaze shift around, he even glanced over his shoulder quickly, suggesting he was sizing up their location. But then he started moving them to his nearby bedroom, manoeuvring her with him.

Rio sat down hard once the backs of his legs hit mattress, lifting her onto his lap, as if that was nothing. She gasped, a slight warble, though it sounded large in the ferocious quiet, couldn’t help it. She had a hard time finding her balance, and Rio wasn’t helping much, fingers playing at the hem of her robe, gaze following them. So she risked getting her hands on his shoulders, timid, waiting for a reprisal that didn’t materialise.

He used her hold on him to tip her backwards a little, with a brisk boost of his thighs. He took advantage of the position to undo the bow, pull her robe open then off, chucked it vaguely toward the head of his bed. All of a sudden she was totally naked and he was very much not, and they’d been in similar straits many a time but not _there_, and not touching. And not. His eyes were so _close_, maybe that was the problem, why she felt so utterly dismantled.

With a surge, he palmed at one breast, bit at the nipple of the other, then got his other hand between her legs. The noises she heard pour out of her mouth were guttural, to the point of inhuman. Fucking him the other night had been, among other things, beatific, but he’d barely touched her, and she was still embarrassed at being the one who caved. Having his hands, his mouth, on her, Rio willing to show her how much he wanted her, it was transcendental. She’d forgotten how that collided upon her when he was permitted – that desire, that confidence.

Beth’s spine bent backwards as she arched, pushing her breast towards his mouth. He moved the hand not playing in the wetness between her legs against her back briefly, re-settling her closer. Then he raised his hips up, taking her with him, off of the bed, to open his jeans and push them down enough, along with his boxers. She hadn’t meant to cling, didn’t remember moving her arms around his neck. When he sat back down, only one of her arms stayed there though. She wasn’t sure if he’d allow it, trepidation trickled throughout, but she was so desperate to touch. There’d been so many times, in that very same room, where she’d ached to.

Rio didn’t prevent her tentative reaching, and when her hand ghosted over his cock he groaned. His lashes swept downwards, hiding his eyes from her for a second. When they opened again he looked determined, mean. Like he was ready to retaliate – by wringing an orgasm from her fast, or denying her one entirely. She hadn’t meant to tease, had just been so unsure, and so excited to handle him finally. As she continued exploring, re-familiarising, maybe he absorbed a bit of that. Because it wasn’t as if he_ relaxed_, tension seemed to be holding him up, but the smoulder in his pupils shifted. He went on touching her the same way, thumb gliding round her clit, other digits dipping into her moisture.

When he pushed a finger fully inside her she groaned, it burnt so good, the texture of him, the size. He went slow, and it was all so different from what she was used to. Not their frantic pace, nor the torturous one. Pleasant, appreciable. They worked themselves up to something more frazzled eventually, Rio elbowing her nearer till her legs were properly wound about his waist. She would’ve halted him, but then he pulled a condom out of his pocket.

She had a hard time believing that had simply happened to be there. The idea that he’d planned for this was terrible, or delightful, or far bigger than both combined. She’d been off-kilter since before she’d knocked, unsure if this was what she’d been asked round for, or if somehow her damp hair, scrubbed skin and stupid little robe had surprised him into going off piste. But if he’d _meant_ for this–

He moved her, pulled her down onto his sheathed dick, and Beth forgot how to think. One of his hands stayed at her hip as she bounced atop him, fighting to cool herself into matching his leisurely pace. The other hand roamed her body, often ending up at a breast, but trailing her ribs, grabbing her ass, tickling her arms too. His mouth popped up to bite and suck at her chest repeatedly.

It felt amazing, and she wanted to cry. Because his languorous touch, the press of him inside, the ecstasy in his eyes – it would all go away. Soon he’d be back to loathing her, and she’d be trying and failing to meet him with the same. She already knew she couldn’t keep doing it, the magnificent highs and destructive lows, was certain this had to be the last time, so she tried to suck as much from the experience as she was able. The hand that wasn’t holding firm to her hip rambled downwards, Rio’s touch tapped at her clit.

Beth clung to his shoulders as she came, helpless, her breasts pushed against his chest. Her complete nakedness against his clothing clashed as _obscene_. Beth’s emotions were rubbed raw, and her oversensitive skin didn’t feel much different.

After she’d calmed down a bit, Rio tried to snake his hand back there again. But she couldn’t handle another orgasm – certain the tears would start, unwilling to experience the practised ease with which he could play her body. She wasn’t certain she'd be able to draw a line under it if she had to endure too much of that. Beth moved his hand to her left breast instead, and he looked quizzical but didn’t push.

When he came she sensed his release seeping into her skin too, as a contact high. The stress seemed to fall away, an, “Elizabeth,” formed a susurration north of her ear.

She didn’t move right off. Couldn’t at first, then told herself just one more second too many times. His thighs shifted, Rio grabbed at the base of the condom before pulling out. She watched him tie it off, anything better than seeing his face, before following its progress with him when it arced gracefully towards his trash can.

She wasn’t sure her legs were fit for purpose, and he hadn’t made any moves. Not to help her down or tuck himself away or just – to get away from her. One of his hands was out of view, but from what she could see of the angle of his arm it appeared to be behind her, would have to be close in fact, although it wasn’t making contact. So she listed sideways, attempted to grab at her robe. Beth was certain that escape had to be the correct course of action, it always had been. She tried not to press against him too much as she did, expected him to flinch when her breasts grazed along his shoulder.

She did discern him tense a moment later – but not in the predicted way. His hand shot out to grab onto her questing arm, hold so tight and unexpected that she yelped. She caught his glare then, and she’d prepared herself for it. But. He looked an almost _benign_ type of annoyed. She came close to believing she’d pissed him off in some banal way, that he wasn’t furious that she existed, kept pummelling his life with her presence.

He rolled them, depositing her against the pillows, him next to her, them no longer touching once he released her. Rio picked up the robe, balled it up, didn’t break eye contact as he launched it deliberately to a far corner of the room.

What the _fuck_, was he five years old! She knew he loved needling her, winding her rage around him. But preventing her from doing what she obviously needed to do, that was a new low, too spiteful even for them.

She spied the other robe, the green swirly patterned one he’d stolen from her, hanging nearby, so she reached for that. She was sweat-dampened, that had to be why the shivering had come back, and unreasonably naked and she _had__ to go_. But as soon as she made contact with the material, he ripped it from her hand, threw it after the other.

Beth grumbled low in frustration, tried to get her legs under her, so she could retrieve at least one of them. Fine, he could have _a _robe, if he was so desperate to switch up his lounging style, but she wasn’t heading home in _nothing_. If he was trying to make a point about the clothes he’d left at hers, that she hadn’t returned, she wasn’t willing to listen to it. But Rio pushed at her shoulder, propelling her back to the pillows, when she tried to move.

“What–” Beth started, irritated.

The second he had her locking eyes with him, he cut her off.

“I don’t forgive you.” He sounded so _serious_, words laced with iron, fury high.

She didn’t _mean_ to, but it was absurd. An incredulous laugh shuddered out of her. Because, obviously. She’d never been stupid enough to think any of this had anything to do with that. He could watch her, or preen for her, or fuck her, clearly. But that was only sex. It couldn’t be more transparent that he detested her in reality. And she’d killed him – or, no. She had to remember to try out the replacement narrative. Right, she’d merely _almost_ annihilated him. But that wasn’t much better. She’d come so close to rendering Marcus fatherless. She’d mistrusted and betrayed Rio to the point of saving _Turner_, a man who'd repeatedly tried to ruin her life, and the lives of her best friends, instead.

Maybe it was how emotional she’d been feeling all evening, or the endorphins, or an endless desire to shut him up. Whatever it was, as she settled a pillow upright in her lap like some cartoonish modesty garment, Beth unleashed a little truth.

“Yeah, neither do I.”

“What the fuck did I do?” Rio snapped.

And she had a few choice words for that! He’d lied to her, threatened her, had her _kidnapped_. But none of that had been what she’d meant.

She tried again, willing him to get her point. “No,” she sighed. “I mean. _Neither do I_.”

She saw it in his eyes, when he got it. They didn’t widen in shock, it was more of a subtle lighting up. As if she hadn’t hit him out of left field, rather he’d suspected already, put it at least half together.

It reminded her a little of how she’d been with Dean in a way – mollifying, minimising her own complaints. But not a lot, if she was being honest, barely a slight echo. Because she wasn’t lying. And maybe the reasons she couldn’t forgive herself weren’t all the same as why Rio couldn’t – but they were there. She’d let him terrify her that night, and she’d fought so hard to never be captive to fear again. She’d killed – well, no, but she’d _tried_, a person. After all the grief they’d gone through with Boomer, the asshole who’d attempted to rape her baby sister, with Beth remaining unable to pull the trigger. It tuned out she could do it, after all. And she’d unleashed that on the man she – well, never mind all of that. And she’d unravelled afterwards, which she was sure was only natural, but the idea of putting her kids through any more stress and heartache was abhorrent, and–

“What?” she asked crossly, noticing the way he was considering her.

“I’m thinkin’,” Rio snapped back.

Her breath burned in her lungs. It felt like something heavy was balanced on the thinnest blade.

Then, “About what?” Her voice sounded too small, too worried, too desperate. But – but maybe that was okay. Perhaps there wasn’t much point trying to hide that, or any of it, from him.

His eyes narrowed as he chewed at his bottom lip. “Fucking you so hard you can’t walk.”

“Oh,” Beth said, going a little dizzy, “okay.”

*

It took him a while though. Once he’d torn the pillow from her, he pushed her down. Started mouthing his way down her body, left a plethora of further marks across her chest with his lips and teeth.

As he kissed below her navel she said, because it seemed important, “I’m mad at you for stuff too, you know.”

His face pulled upwards. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Like what?”

He dropped down, fast, began lapping at her clit. It was the same move of his tongue, again and again, a hypnotic rhythm.

Beth’s head fell back as she groaned. “I- I, uh. I don’t remember.” Her pitch had lowered to something almost unrecognisable, she sounded like a chronic smoker or, fuck. Far too close to him.

He laughed, and she bucked, and then Rio pressed a couple of fingers inside her as he sucked on her nub. His fingers pushed so deep, rubbed at her g-spot in a way that made her hate him for how she’d never been able to emulate it.

He smirked unrepentantly up at her afterwards as he continued flicking at her clit occasionally while she surfed the aftershocks. When she’d come back down, he dragged her off to his study. Rio was muttering filth in her ear as he hustled her there, practically pressed to her back, hands wandering.

He was bitching some still by the time they’d entered, about how she’d refused to let him press her against the desk in her office at the dealership that time. Which wasn’t even _true_, he’d been the one to scuttle off all cranky, it wasn’t like she’d _told_ him to leave–

Rio started encouraging her towards his giant mahogany desk, but noticing what had to be an offensively expensive reclining chair on the other side of it gave her a thought, and pause.

“Where were you?” she asked, turning to face him, seeing a raised brow. “When you were listening to me?”

Beth indicated the chair with her head, half-turning her face.

He swallowed, then nodded.

“Sit down,” she demanded, pointing to the seat. “Take off your clothes.”

Rio inhaled sharply through his nose, and she thought he was going to argue, that this was his show. But then he strode past her, settled in the chair. This time when his shirt came off, Beth let herself look. It was hard but also – not as bad as she’d assumed. She moved close, and wanted to caress or say but – it didn’t feel right.

“Were you touching yourself? When you were listening to me?” Beth asked instead, as she kneeled to help him work his jeans and underwear down, and then completely off.

“What you think?” he snarled.

She grinned, but it didn’t stick as she became entranced by the sight in front of her.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“Huh?” Beth started stroking him, earning her a rough growl. “That you could hear me?”

“Mm.”

“Why?”

“Cos you was moaning my name an awful lot.”

“Oh.” Beth tipped her head, tongued at his slit, before pulling back up. “I was thinking about you, I guess.”

“’Bout what?”

She shrugged, but the way Rio stared at her was too intoxicating. “Probably about the way you looked at me when we were…having sex.”

“How’s that?” he shot back, around a groan.

She rather resented how in control of the conversation he seemed, so she stroked his balls, dropped her head back down to swallow as much of him as she could.

He moaned appreciatively, and when she pulled back again, working her hand up and down, she answered. “Like you couldn’t believe it was happening.”

“Yeah,” he ground out as the angle of her wrist changed.

  
“Yeah.”

He let her lick and suck him a little while longer, before he hissed, “_Elizabeth_.”

It sounded similar to a melodious fragment, as if it were a small part of a larger whole, a line recollected from a once well-known song. She wanted to hear the rest.

“C’mon,” he insisted. “Stop, stop.”

He hauled her up with him. Beth pouted, and that made him laugh.

Till he got her bent over the desk, set her alight with anticipation that he must have sensed. It felt strangely intimate once he’d pressed inside her, like that, not a mirror in sight. She was so reliant on his sounds and scent, craved his touch everywhere.

She couldn’t make out all that much of what he whispered, and it didn’t really matter. The sound of his voice was comfort enough. But she caught a couple of ‘baby’s, and so what if they warmed her.

By the end, he was pretty much holding her up, her body exhausted, elbows braced limply against the edge of the desk. Beth’s throat savoured coarse from screaming her pleasure. Rio collapsed against her back for some suspended moments afterwards and he was _heavy_, pushing her flesh too far into the wooden surface, but it wasn’t as if she minded. She heard his soft chuckle once he’d lifted and presumably taken stock, but it sounded to be coming from far off or long ago. She didn’t have the energy to moan at the loss of him.

He bent and wobbled when he wandered into her peripheral vision, around the side of the desk, and blinking didn’t completely fix it. She sort of caught him pulling on his underwear and she didn’t totally support that choice, but she recognised it for sensible. She was confused when the chair moved away, but came to understand it when he’d wheeled it behind her and pushed her back into it. He must have disappeared while she was trying to catch her breath, because the next thing she knew her paisley robe had been dropped over her, and a glass of water had materialised in front of her.

*

She made her excuses at some point, wildly unsure if that was necessary in the slightest. Said the kids were coming back the next morning, knew he knew it was so too. Beth did have to sort stuff out before their return, it wasn’t a lie. It was just that the main thing she had to prepare was herself. She possessed a great need to weep in peace, to shower, to explore every mark he’d left on her – possibly all at the same time.

He watched her stand to pull on the robe, tie it and smooth it down. When she checked the pockets, her stuff was still present and correct.

“Bye!” she squeezed out, attempting to force a cheery sheen.

“Hold on,” he said rather absently, finishing getting himself together and checking he had his things. “I’ll walk you.”

She pulled a confused face.

“Long journey, yeah?” he said with an eye roll.

That made her giggle, and he returned that with a flash of a smile. And she was so _lost_.

She’d come for a farewell, or a reprimand. Had expected punishment, or something so hurtful it would shock her into forcing an end. But he’d been untenably open, and horribly human, and close to tender in parts, and she didn’t know how to take it, or whether to hope at all.

When they got to her door, he grabbed her wrist. Once he’d forced her palm up, he dug into a pocket to place something there. When she saw the keys she figured he was returning the set he had of hers. And that did sting a bit, though it made sense. At least she confirmed then that he’d been after a last hurrah too, and if they were sharing a page surely that had to mean they could shamble on, get past it. But then she realised that only one on that chain resembled the familiar.

“In case,” he said, shuffling a shoulder.

“Of emergency?” she asked, angry at how breathless she sounded.

“Sure,” he allowed. “But also. In case of – whatever.” His eyes drifted off to the side, then meandered back. “Can’t be always leaving my door unlocked. There’s a real criminal element in the building.”

That last part, the purposeful way he’d looked at her, joke evident, made her grin.

She wasn’t sure if it was okay, but she pushed up on her toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. It didn’t land a million miles from his mouth.

He studied her for too long, such a length that she thought she’d dissipate, cave out of reality. His tongue pressed at the back of his front teeth, she couldn’t see the tip, but she knew that curl so well.

When she thought she’d have to say something, or otherwise explode, he pressed her against her front door, one hand cushioning the back of her head. When he kissed her lips her mouth fell open, and it became filthy fast. Their tongues thrummed against each other, lips became entrapped by teeth, wet gasps released.

He didn’t seem particularly hate-fuelled, she had to acknowledge. In fact it felt a lot like – like he was struggling to express the same things she was. And she thought – that she was starting to get what those were.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from A House is Not a Home by Luther Vandross.

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to everyone for comments and kudos and encouragements xxx <3


End file.
